


About a Queen

by Knight_fall



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fake Character Death, POV Female Character, Remarriage, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-04-15 03:12:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 25,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4590852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knight_fall/pseuds/Knight_fall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lyanna Stark, the wild child-woman of the North, is less a child and more a woman with each day that passes. When a stroke of fate at a tourney makes her heart no longer be her own, she abandons her life in pursuit of happiness. Alas, the world is a stage with more than one main character. Conflicting interests around her spark a war, and with it, what she believes is the death of her lover. Life comes in the form of a child, which she cannot afford to call her own. There however, is a man who would gladly call her his. </p><p>alternatively,</p><p>Lyanna survives the Tower of Joy and forced to part with her babe, marries Robert who is King. Despite the common belief which is her own as well, the last dragon had not yet sang his final song. Depicts a rather dark and scarred Lyanna.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Promise me, Ned. Promise me..._ his sister begged, convinced it were the last draws of breath she was taking. Sitting by her bedside, smoothing back her dark curls from her yet slightly feverish forehead as her small body curled into itself under a clean white nightgown, Ned could only thank the Gods that it indeed wasn't so. Choosing to ignore the remembrance of desperate cries Lyanna aimed at death, begging it to take her, Ned concentrated on the fact that while his sister was scarred and likely wouldn't heal in anything resembling a blink of an eye, she was alive.

Lyanna would get better, he would see to it. Her body seemed to have fought off the fever as the burning of merciless sun upon her pale skin ceased, and the pleasant chill of the North reminded her bones of home. The state of her soul, however, painfully teared at his own. _I need to go with them, let me go with them._ she cried after their father and brother.

Or mayhap, it was the sight of her prince that she sought out as she clutched to the dead rose petals, spilling from her weakening fist as drops of blood gave away a thorn embedded in her skin. Her dragonprince whose death stained the Trident in crimson, not with blood but of rubies. Did she know of it, that he had perished? By the look in her eyes, she did.

_What did he do to you?_

_He did not a thing but love me..._

Ned rubbed his hand over his forehead. Snapping him out of his torturous musings, was a faint sound of a cry, suffocated by the heavy, wooden doors. Soon after, he hears quick, servant girl's steps and the sound ceases. _Promise me, Ned._

* * *

 

"A bastard? Under our roof?" She inquires, in a tone that suggests heavy disapproval and resistance. And how could it not?

"The child has no other." Ned reasons. "His mother cannot care for him. It is my responsibility."

"Not mine." She hisses. "Not mine!" She cries in a tone, unlike any he had ever heard of his wife. Though they already have an heir, they know so little of each other. Of what Ned knows, is that she holds to decency. Which would indicate her harshness is a result of a grave injury.

"Who is his mother anyway?" She spits, the tilt of her head suggests she is embarrassed posing the question. "The woman you chose to dishonor me with?" She adds, softer.

"'Tis not important." Breathes Ned softly. "She cannot care for him."

"He wouldn't exist had you cared for me." Catelyn returns bitterly.

* * *

 

When he returns with a creak of the olden door, Ned finds his sister had risen from her sickbed. Relieved that at least it was her body that got its strength back, he lets himself search for her. Finding her in the adjacent room, he sees her dark locks tumbling down her back; she is turned away from him. He does not need to move to know she holds a babe at her breast. It pains him to do such a thing, but it is far too risky...

"Lyanna." He warns softly, touching a hand to her elbow.

She turns, frantic, like a caged animal. She will not speak, but she frees herself of his gentle hold on her arm. The moment her gaze is back on the little creature bundled in her arms, her expression softens. When he looks into her grey eyes cast away from him, Ned sees love and pain.

* * *

 

She does not speak for months. Her child is in need of a name. When Ned suggests _Jon_ , she looks to him with an expression that Ned learned means tentative agreement. Those looks, the subtle differences and the small twitches from the corner of her mouth, it's the most that he receives in communication. She had such a pleasant voice, warm and husky, betraying happiness more often than not. His sister, the wild child-woman of the North. He does not wish to forget it.

When Catelyn asks of why she had taken such a kinship to a _mere bastard_ , Ned claims the child's innocence agrees with her wounds of trauma. Cat does not question any longer, Ned knows she is glad it is not she who is required to give the child any attention. She looks to Lyanna with pity.

* * *

 

When he makes his way back into his father's solar, or rather his solar, of which Ned feels he will never grow accustomed to, a letter waits for him. He does not need to open to know it is royal correspondence, and not one concerning a kingdom, but a mere woman. Robert, their king wishes to know how Lyanna's health and spirits are holding up. Ned assumes that replying how she was dealt a blow by a warhammer is not an appropriate response.

The king wishes to visit, which Ned knows is wise to avoid for as long as it is possible. He knows of Robert's thoughts, and why his royal bedchambers remain empty, even if he, as a king, is in a need of heirs. It is not a child Robert desires, nor does he care for her broken maidenhead, according to his words. Ned wonders if he would care for her broken spirits.


	2. Chapter 2

When he tells her of the king's visit, but not the reasons behind it, it does not seem to provoke a reaction. She is yet to speak a word, his sister. It seems the ever-growing babe looking more and more like her every day is closer to it than she is. Otherwise, her thoughts ring completely sane and her behavior level. She takes care of herself, and even if she eats very little, she seems reasonably healthy.

Ned does not know what it was that ultimately saddened his sister so much she decided the world was not deserving of her thoughts. 'Tis not for a lack of choice that he doubts. Was it the guilt she felt over the deaths of their father and Brandon? Was it her own fierce devotion and love that burned her from the inside in the wake of a loss? The trauma of birthing a babe alone in a tower and drifting so close to death she desired it? Ned does not know. He does not understand. Robert would even less so.

While in the beginning it was not the case, lately she listened when another would speak to her, Ned could tell. At times he would sit with her, and she would allow herself be embraced, or her hair be stroked. Other times, Catelyn would approach and show her her embroidery work or speak to her of lighthearted subjects. Lyanna would seem to listen intently and her dark grey eyes lined with thick eyelashes would seem so alive, that there were times when Eddard indeed forgot she had not returned the same as she had left. Sometimes as she listened, her pretty lips would curl into a slight semblance of a smile but it was faint, so much Ned wondered if he imagined it.

Those are no more than rare moments though, for at most times Lyanna can be found with Jon. The silent bond is entirely comprehensible to Ned, but less so to anyone else. She rocks him on her knee, she plays with him, comforts him and gently smoothes away his frights if he is upset. A true smile, one Ned started doubting he would ever again see on her face, he stumbled upon once with a silent creak of the door as she played with her son.

Jon's seems to be the only contact Lyanna willingly seeks out, instead of merely tolerates. And the child, he could weep for hours if she wasn't there, with no one able to calm it, and it would only take a single touch from her for him to still and clear his own deep grey eyes of tears. Eyes, that only with luck did not carry a shade of purple indigo.

It frightens Eddard, such a blatant closeness, but he hasn't the heart to separate her away from the child. Initially, he feared leaving her alone, terrified she might do something to her own harm. He does not doubt that such a fear would be justified if Jon were to be taken away from her, and yet, the current situation equally keeps Ned staring into the abyss.

Men and women were known to be capable of reaching painfully convoluted conclusions, even with a lack of suggestion in reality. Such a thing became clear to him after he had heard a couple of servants debating whether or not the deceased crown prince got a child on her which she painfully lost and sought to replace with his own bastard. How long would it be until someone unknowingly stumbled upon the truth that stole his sleep at night? Ned only prays none such stories will ever reach her ear.

 

* * *

 

Seeing familiar banners in the distance, signaling a royal party making its way toward Winterfell, Ned cannot help but feel that the day he dreaded for almost a year had finally come. That the banners he'd last seen in war, had on this occasion been lifted in peace, it does not help the nauseating feeling stirring within him. That stag was the last thing he wished to see.

It seemed that making Lyanna his wife was an ambition the king was not ready to give up on. Plenty of youthful, coquetting maidens have been paraded before his eyes, Ned knows so from their correspondence and even without it, he can only assume. Plenty of gifts and alliances and beneficial political arrangements are offered to him, none of it matters enough for Robert to consider the possibility that Lyanna's true place is at Winterfell.

Nay, Robert wanted her by his side, and any Ned's attempts to signal he, as her brother, is not approving of such a thing have been met with willful ignorance. All the warnings Ned made about her condition were brushed off to the side.  _A king gets what he desires_ , was one of the lines in his last letter.  _I love her,_   _I can heal her._

Ned fears the feeling had not yet come to its full potential of destruction.

* * *

 

When the king's presence claims it, knees bend and heads bow. One full of dark curls isn't among them. Ned almost hopes the king's reaction will be less than understanding. Robert notes the absence with fondness and worry.

* * *

 

Once they have a semblance of privacy, Robert's somberness turns into rage. He dreams of killing Targaryens every night, he says. Of killing Rhaegar for _what he did to her._ His fist clenches, his face reddens and his muscled chest heaves. He seems to forget he had completed that task rather well. Someone else does not.

„You bastard.“ she cries as her frail body hits against the stony surface that is Robert's chest, hardly having any impact even if it is all of her force behind it. Ned does not know whether to be pleasantly surprised she spoke, or mortified of what she had spoken of.  


	3. Chapter 3

„I couldn't hate him.“ She claims brokenly, head calmly leaned against his chest as long held back tears soaked through and stained his tunic. Accompanying her back to her room, Ned sought to calm her in her fit. At the same time, Catelyn was tasked with giving their most profound apologies to the man who was now their king.

„I wanted to, I couldn't. He didn't know.“ A sniffle. „Now he knows.“ She adds softly in a murmur.

Stroking her soft curls as she relaxes, Ned is not as certain of it as she. Robert saw what he wanted to see, heard what he wanted to hear. As king, he could almost be said to have a right to it. Ned wishes he could say this was the end of their troubles. Alas, Robert was not likely to see this as anything other than a misguided cry from a broken woman, who even in her implied madness could not cease being appealing to him. Even now, with the truth shoved underneath his nose, he blames Rhaegar of her condition while considering himself her savior, Ned knows. He says not a thing of it aloud, he needn't make her feel more alone in the facts he knows she will forever bear on her own.

„Why?“ Ned ceases the opportunity to ask instead. A part of him considers it is better if he never knows, but then, it might be beneficial to her. All this time, what she wanted was to scream.

„Why what?“ She prompts in a level voice. She does not rise her head to look at him and Ned does not want her to.

„Why didn't you send a letter? There was no way to know...“

„I did. We did. It never made it here. Or it never made it in time.“ She answers in her husky voice. „Would it have made a difference if it had?“ Suddenly she asks, misted grey eyes rising up to his.

„Likely not.“ Ned sighs.

„Did he suffer?“ She asks then; it is clear to him that she braces herself for an answer. She likely heard a lot of it, it wasn't a tale that would escape the mouths of the commoners for seasons to come. Around Winterfell, he had forbidden such stories, but it did little to quell them. He knows why she asks this of him, he was there.

„No.“ Ned offers somberly. „He was winning, until he wasn't.“

* * *

 

When the exhaustion of the day tumbles her into sleep, Ned carefully disentangles himself, softly closing the door behind him. The doors to his own bedchamber that he shares with his lady wife are half-open, in a peculiar manner. In his almost two year long marriage, even if he'd spent one year of it at war, Ned had learned things about his wife. He had learned to read her moods, and he had grown accustomed to her habits. Their temperaments seemed to agree rather well, and even more the less Jon was in sight. Ned understood why this was, and it pained him, yet not more than the alternative would.

Expecting to see her obscuring her southron bones under the heavy furs as she usually did, Ned was surprised to see her standing straight in her nightclothes. Turned away from him, she watched into nothing, it seemed. The words out of her mouth, he does not expect.

„He is hers, isn't he?“

It is short, it is grave, it is cutting. He understands her meaning perfectly. Ned is not certain he can lie any longer.

When she turns, there are angry tears swimming in her bright, blue eyes.

„Answer me!“ She cries. „I deserve to know. You brought him here, you claimed him as your own. You stained my honor along with your own and made me look at the evidence of it every day.“

„Cat...“ Ned attempts to near closer to her, but she does not budge. Her stare is strict and her posture defiant as she moves from his touch.

„Do not say that it is not so! I shan't believe you. I suspected it for a long time, but I kept silent. It seemed unreal, it seemed impossible. But that today, was a scream from a mother grieving the father of her child. Ned Stark, if you are the man that I think you are, you will confess to what you have done.“

„I did what I had to do.“ He claims quickly, defeated.

„It is treason!“ Catelyn claims in a high voice, that is nonetheless checked for volume. „What do you think will happen if the king finds out? It will not only be that child's head, it will be yours, mine and our son's. The only person spared would be her! How could you do something like this, put us all in such a danger?“

„Robert will never find out.“ Returns Eddard calmly.

Catelyn shakes her head as she exclaims. „Like I never found out? Half of Winterfell already suspects. With every year they are beside one another so that every man, woman and child can compare their differences, we are closer to death.“

„What would you have me do?“ Asks Ned, in a tone that betrays some force. „Separate her from the only thing that keeps her breathing?“

„I would have you never bring him here in the first place.“ Returns Catelyn gravely. „I would have you be a father and a husband. Your sister's follies are her own, and no one even knows it. She is treated like an injured saint, people watch to her as the first casualty of that war you left me to fight in, instead of the cause! She does not deserve...“

„Do not speak of my sister like that.“ Ned warns. It seems the remark further irks her.

„Gods be good, I felt pity for her, I truly did. And she had brought it all upon herself. Thousands died because she couldn't do her duty, among them your father and brother. So tell me, how can you find it in yourself to pity her, to love her or whatever it is that you feel that causes you to put your whole family in peril?“

„Seven hells, she is my family!“ Ned suddenly exclaims. „And so is her child.“ he adds, softer.

„I will not let your misplaced loyalty be the death of us. As your wife, as the lady of these lands, I do not want either of them here. Unless you do something of this, I will come with this to the king myself, I swear of it! As a last hope of saving my own child's life.“  

„Where will they go?“ Asks Ned, hating himself for allowing the possibility.

Catelyn does not look at him as she replies. „The affection Robert holds for her is immeasurable, for whatever reason. Mayhap she should do her duty for once, Gods know she had been given another chance.“

„And what of the child?“

„The child can stay.“ She sighs. „The world will know him as your bastard, with no reason to suspect otherwise.“


	4. Chapter 4

When he enters the kitchens, she is there. Her back is turned to him and her dark tresses are spilled over her shoulders. She is making work of something. Eyes fixed to her back, Ned finds himself wishing their impending conversation could pass without her affording him a single glance. He already witnessed the fire dying in her eyes, once, he does not wish to see it again.

The timing is poor, he thinks to himself. Just now when she had found it in herself to break that ice wall within her, to stop mourning her fate and to make an attempt at building a life again, as hard as such task may prove itself to be. Even if it had taken hatred for her to realize she could indeed do so. All the gentle attempts, patience and kindness with which he sought out to close her open words and allow them to scar, the attempts of pulling her back into the world, it was for naught. She did not want to fight. And yet the moment she saw him...

 Her hatred for Robert is greater than his love for her is, Ned thinks, and that was saying something. He does not consider himself an expert in the matters of the heart, yet her emotions are too raw to deny. In whichever form her spirit remained burning inside her, it loved Jon and hated Robert with all of its essence. It might have also loved Rhaegar, perhaps that was what numbed her the most. How do you love someone who isn't there?

The trauma might have as well scraped everything else away. In her earlier days, she loved riding, his sister. She and Brandon, there hadn't been a wheat of grass in a miles wide circle around Winterfell that the hooves of their horses hadn't touched.

She hadn't mounted a horse from the day he carried her in his arms through the gates of Winterfell, returning her tired, sore bones home after she'd been so terribly hurt outside it. He remembers clinging to a childish notion, that once she was returned to her rightful home, that everything would somehow go back and be exactly the way it was. Oh, how she proved him wrong.

In the wake of it all, Ned hates himself for even thinking of what Robert insists on. He seems to fluctuate between fear and guilt. Fear, that he will deeply regret his reluctance and softness, and guilt for that which he was yet to do. Could he truly remove her from what he knows is the only reason she gets up on the morrow, to send her into a pit of vipers, away from her home, away from her family, into the bed of a man she detests? How cruel of a man could he truly be?

And yet, Catelyn's words ring inside his head. _It is treason._ That is the one he has least concerns about. Wasn't Robert Baratheon lifting his banners treason? And yet, he is king. Ned finds no romanticism in the tale, even if he helped write it. Perhaps, because he helped write it. The consequences of that treason, however, it gives Ned pause. Wasn't being separated from ones child better than having him put to a sword? He never thought he would have to weigh the two options. He is not certain she will see it that way.

In his thoughts, he is hovering. She spares him a side glance as she moves. Ned does not find himself uncomfortable by the silence, he had gotten used to it from her. Perhaps she had gotten used to it as well. He does not think that he can speak with her right away, he finds consolation in the idea of a respite. This is also not the place...

„When you are finished, come find me in my study. I have something I wish to talk to you about.“ He murmurs, steady. She doesn't look to him and she doesn't nod. Yet, he knows she will be there.

* * *

 

„No!“ She cries, her wide eyes bewildered in shock. „No Ned, you cannot do this, you cannot, no, no...“ Her knees bend, she seems like she is about to topple for a moment. Ned reaches out, his hands acting as holders on her elbow. The moment he touches her, she repels.

Her legs seem stable as she moves backwards. She hisses harshly in the next moment. „Do not touch me! How can you even think of it, what have I done to you for you to be so cruel! How can you say such a thing...“

„It is for your own good.“ He hears himself saying. An immediate disgust flares up within him at his own words.

„What?“ She asks in a voice breaking with impending tears. Her grey eyes are so wide as she looks to him. Her parted red lips tremble, arguing with the paleness of her skin. It pains him.

„You cannot stay here, 'tis not good for you. You are still very young and you are fair, you can be a wife. You can be happy with Robert, you can have children...“

„I already have a son! Have you forgotten?“ Her eyes burn into his as her voice painfully reverberates. What a luck it is that this room is shielded away from the rest of the castle.

„He is not your son. Not to the world. Not if you want him to live.“

The defiant tautness of her muscles seems to lessen at that. Her head lowers but he still sees her bottom lip tremble. „Is that why? Is that why you're sending me away?“ Her voice is thin as she asks this.

„Aye.“ He answers calmly, not wanting to sigh but he does. „'Tis not safe for either of you, you cannot stay here. People suspect...“

„Oh Ned, dearest Ned.“ She suddenly falls to her knees. Her slight, pale hand reaches out for his own. She squeezes harder than the delicate sight suggests she could. „Please don't do this. Please.“ Her weeping grey eyes look up at him. „I will not spend so much time with him, I swear. I just need to know he is there and see him sometimes, as much as you say I can, 'tis all. I swear. Ned.“

Oh, how he wishes he could grant her plead. „Lya...we both know that shall not last. I beg of you, do not make this harder. Think of your child. Don't you want him safe. What will happen if people find out?“

„You mean if Robert finds out?“ Her voice is dry and cutting, she cannot help but spit the name. She releases his hand but does not rise from her knees. There she sits in a pool of puffed grey skirts of her dress as she looks away. It does not last long; soon, her burning grey gaze is back on his. „You mean if he finds out and decides he hasn't taken enough from me already. That he will want to kill him the way he killed his father? And that is the man in whose bed you want to send me?“

„Lya...“ His hands reach to lift her but she denies the movement. „ I do not wish for it anymore than you do. But think of Jon. You would be doing this for him, for his safety. And who knows, in time you might grow fond of him and...“

„Over my dead body.“ She spits gravely. „Who do you take me for?“ She asks in a low voice as her head snaps up for her to meet his gaze again. „That you think I would wish for anything other than death to the man whose hands are on me, whose hands killed...“ she stops at this and swallows hard. „I have a husband.“

Ned feels a slight gasp dislodging from him, but he does not let the surprise linger for too long. „He is dead.“ He says instead.

„So what?“ She returns dryly. „So am I, in everything but flesh.“

„Jon isn't.“ Ned returns. He sees her shoulders squaring uncomfortably, her jaw dislodging with discomfort. He knows that it moves her. It was the only thing that could.


	5. Chapter 5

He weeps. He weeps like he knows. Lyanna, she curls his little body into hers, she plunges her nose in his thick, dark curls and she breathes. She breathes even when her own breath hitches, when her soul starts feeling more and more like it is made of lead, when tears burn and burn at the corners of her eyes but somehow they won't move beyond her lashes and down her cheeks.

He cannot understand her. It is a small blessing.

„My son.“ She tells him, it is the first time those words have passed her lips. It has always been Jon or darling or dearest when no one was there to hear, or simply silence. She saved all her words for him. She saved all her tears for him, even when she tried not to cry too much because children were apt at feeling and she wanted him to be happy.

 _My little Jon._ She vaguely remembers screaming about him into Ned's face, like he didn't know. Her second eldest brother, her eldest _living_ brother, Lord of Winterfell, her liege lord, Robert Baratheon's friend. He told her he would love him like his own. Yet, no one will ever love him like she does. No one would ever do such a thing for him like she would.

It occurred to her more than once that there was another way out of this, there had to be.

She let her mind wander, seek escape as it so often has, as it had when she was to marry Robert and her silver prince appeared, giving her all she wanted as he reached with his hand to hers. _Run away with me, Lyanna,_ he told her even when he needn't spend any of his breath, she was already his. His eyes, so sad and purple and _alive_ , how they watched to her, she would never look away.

She would follow him to the end of the world, and yet, she couldn't follow him to the Trident when he donned that same black armor he wore that day he laid a crown of blue winter roses in her lap, when he removed that black helm and let his long silver tresses spill and be caressed by the wind as he rode away on his beast.

She remembered wanting to be that wind, wanting to touch her hand to the silky silver that haunted her in her dreams for nights to come. She remembered doing so as he reached for her not yet visibly pregnant form, kissed her as strongly as he knew she liked to be kissed, and murmured his farewells into her ear.

Lyanna often stopped her memories there, for it was too painful to think that had been the last time she'd seen him, that he had never returned and that the rubies on that same armor, the ones that mesmerized her with the light playing on the shining crimzon surface, they were now somewhere at the bottom of that river, staining it like little drops of blood. He'd noticed it, Rhaegar, how she loved his armor. He'd promised her rubies in her crown, for a crown was a queen's strongest armor as he said. She did not wish to be queen, nay, she never did. She only wanted to run away...

Similarly, Lyanna often fantasized about sneaking out with Jon in the middle of the night, somehow finding her way South where she would seek for an harbor with him in her arms. There, she would find a ship and they would sail all the way to the other end of the world, to one of those strange places that came alive for her in Rhaegar's songs. She had no coin, she had no attire, she had nothing of her own, it feels to her. She feels she could steal gold, she could steal enough at least for them to reach their destination. It is not her own lack of courage, lack of resolve when she considers the challenges the trip may bring that stops her.

 _What if he finds us?_ Robert would never give up, nay, he would never be capable of letting her go, of forgetting her. It makes her sick when she thinks on it, how much that man had done to own her, how much blood there was spilled. She didn't want it, nay, she didn't want any of it. Some blamed Rhaegar, some even blamed herself. But to her, it was clear Robert was king, a king who was sitting on the pile of ashes he himself created. Even if she ran from these damnable kingdoms whose lands drank the blood of those she loved, she would be sought after on the king's orders themselves, she could resist for a while but eventually, she would be caught. And Jon would be in her arms, and the moment Robert would lay his eyes on her son in her embrace, he would know. He would know and he would kill him.

There was another way. A clean way out of this. Is it a mother's strength or is it cowardice that stops her, Lyanna does not know.

All she knows is that she stood there, at the top of the tower, with her legs shaking beneath her and the winds in the height blowing against her cheeks. She approached the edge. She closed her eyes. Heard the murmur in the winter sundown, distant thin voices and songs of birds from the Wolfswood. She concentrated on this until it was a distinct sound of a harp that played to her ears, a known melody that she always feared would someday slip her mind. That was it then. That was when she should have done it. And something didn't let her.

„You will never know how much I love you.“ She murmurs then into her son's thick, dark curls much like her own, choking on her own thoughts, injured by her memories. Jon is calm as she tells him this, he is always calm. Even when he is upset in that hopeless way in which children are when the world or their own state is beyond their grasp, his grey weeping eyes clear quickly and his pained takes of breath quell as he looks to her. He seemed much too wise for his own age, her little son. Those inquisitive grey eyes; although he is a picture of herself, even if it would make sense she sees herself in him, when he looks at her with those eyes who are but a wrong color for the full impression of it, she sees him. He is much like his father was, she thinks, even if she cannot be certain of it. There were certain qualities about Rhaegar that she was never sure if she knew or merely guessed.

 They were never really married, not truly. Marriage was something that is promised to last, it is a thing of persistence and hard work, respect and understanding first and foremost and not...passion. It was all they had, their passion in the tower. She could still remember it, the feeling of his lean, chiseled back under her fingertips, the way they curled into said back when the final shift of his hips would send  her firing with ecstasy. And he would at times whisper her name, and she would whisper his more. It was promised not to last.

She knew she loved him. He might have loved her...she didn't care. He never said it and she was grateful, she knew if he did, she would wonder, obsess whether it was true or not, she would resent him if she would ultimately decide that it had been a lie. She didn't care. Not when he was close, not when his skin was sliding over hers and his sweat was mixing with hers. She only knew one thing of him for certain.

He died so Jon could live. Perhaps it was Lyanna's turn now.


	6. Chapter 6

 

When she returns to her room, a metal locket, shining atop her sheets awaits her. Her mother's locket, and her mother's portrait within – she knew without opening it. She'd almost forgotten about it; there hadn't been a day of her youth that she hadn't worn it, from the first time Father allowed her to do so. If Lyanna thought her death and memory were hard to bear, she doesn't anymore. After all, her mother died doing her duty, during labor every woman was subjected to.

She died surrounded by family, and a fresh, screaming babe on her breast, letting her know it had not all been for naught. There was nothing anyone might have, could have done to prevent it. It was the will of the Old Gods that her mother was wrapped into white silks, put into a casket and lowered into the ground. Lyanna desired such an end for herself, perhaps that was why the gods decided she wasn't worthy of one.

Despite Ned shielding her from it as much as possible, Lyanna heard stories about how Brandon's voice grew so thin from weeks of screaming, wailing after her in the dungeons, _Lyanna, Lyanna,_ that he did not let out a single grunt as he choked himself on the rope wrapped around his throat, trying to save their father.

Her eldest brother, he had the most special gift for making her feel indignant and at times bashful, making color rise to her cheeks either with his bawdy comments or teasing insults to her riding skill. Lyanna would not stay in debt for long; it hadn't been once that she hit him when he would cross the line. Brandon would laugh and occasionally yelp but he would let her, though he could keep both her hands behind her back with a single one of his, and not half as much effort. At times, they quarreled for days, making their father lament about having two wolf-children together under the same roof. But then, a day would come when the squabble felt like it had been drawn out for too long, and she would wake on the morrow to find him leaning on her doors, offering her a grin and a felt apology.

He'd been so young still, young enough to do foolish things, yet mature enough to feel guilty about the trouble he afforded others. Always doing just a bit less than what would light their father with rage, and always telling her not to do things herself she couldn't apologize for.

 He'd been the most alive person she'd ever known, and now his remains stood straight in the crypts only for the fact they had been entombed. Lyanna did not think to her mother with sadness anymore, for there was only so much sadness one's soul could bear. She did not even think to her father, for her soul had long ago bittered with the fact he intended to trade her away like a broodmare for a political alliance, with no regard for her happiness or well-being. Of course, Lyanna did not wish death on him, but it had been different. He had a hand in it, in her betrothal, ruthlessly going through with it even when she pleaded, begged of him not to send her away. Southron ambitions, men murmured. Killed him, killed his eldest son and left his daughter a shell of her former self, broken and useless now that the dragon had his way with her. And Brandon...his only sin was loving his sister. He died an excruciating death for it.

Her father gave her no choice, at that time she thought. But had she known just what would happen, had she known...she never would have done what she did, never would have ran away. She would have kept quiet and withstood Robert, his smothering dominance and rough touch, the stink of alcohol breath, the impending humiliation of whores frequenting his beds...all of it. Lyanna would have silently borne it all, would have carried and birthed children black of hair and brightest blue eyes while her husband fucked wenches and complained about her ruined body. She would have silently done her duty, if only to know all her brothers to be happy, laughing, smiling, breathing. Brandon was dead, and Ned and Benjen rarely smiled now. She smiled even less. It was too late now...

Siting back on her bed, Lyanna flipped the locket open, out of habit more than anything else. Even before she looks down, the smell of winter roses spreading through the air surprises her, and hurts her just a bit. Last time she inhaled it, it was through an air already thick with blood.

Lyanna lets a finger trace the brittle outline of a single dead rose petal laying over her mother's portrait, a little part of her crown.   _Promise me, Ned_ ,  she had cried, clutching to the last thing she had left of her dragonprince.

She still remembered the smile Rhaegar had given her, a private smile only for her as he lowered that crown in her lap. Lyanna remembered the warmth of his body in their tower, how she used to seek it out at night, curl into him when the thick summer air of Dorne would turn cold with a night breeze.They cremated him, she heard. Sent him off as the proper dragon, even if she knew Robert was only trying to wipe every trace of him from this world, not honor him. His children and wife suffered a similar fate.

 Lyanna would have rather carried the fond memory of a beautiful prince crowning an unruly maiden who fancied herself a knight eons ago, before they forever parted ways. She would have rather felt longing that would with time dwindle into a tired melancholy, than bear the weight of all of this, with not even a glimpse of her son smiling for her innocently like only a child could. So pure and unblemished, not damaged like she was, it almost hurt to look at him. Whenever he looked at her with those wide grey eyes of his, it was as if he asked, _Mama, why are you so sad? The world is a beautiful place_.

Yet, that was her destiny, it seemed. To be separated from her Jon, like a last stab into an already dead heart. Lyanna wondered for how long she could take it. She couldn't in good conscience kill herself now, not when she was only a walking distance away from him.

Perhaps once she had been in the capital for long enough, once Jon had forgotten her and wouldn't miss her, perhaps then her guilt might lessen enough and she would get to be reunited with her dragonprince.

She wondered if he waited for her, if there truly was such a thing as a life after death. Was he there? Could he see her now, does he keep an eye on her and Jon, like he promised that he would? Lyanna almost hopes not. She doesn't want him to be there when she betrays him. 

If he knew, if he knew that she had allowed Robert to touch her, her prince would wish for her no longer, and even in death, Lyanna would not have peace. Perhaps she didn't deserve it, after all.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Benjen was called from the Wall to be the one to give her away.

The day had come, when Lyanna was to travel South, the cattle exchange postponed but not forgotten. Given that little Robb was but a babe and Catelyn a fresh mother, Ned had to remain at his post as the Stark of Winterfell, and Benjen was the one to give her away. Lyanna would have been glad for her brother's presence, had the entire matter not felt like being given a death sentence. In her case, a death sentence seemed even preferable; Lyanna no longer thought how most people thought, nor felt like most people felt – she had no burning instinct to protect her own life. Her son was the only thing that reminded her she was indeed alive, a she-wolf inclined to protect her young at any cost.

Still, Benjen's solemn face, that had grown more long, more dignified, more Stark with the years past stirred something within Lyanna. His limbs extended also, making him far more lanky than Lyanna recalled; he was taller than her now. She had seen him briefly after she'd just returned, but hardly remembered a thing; at that time, life was an incoherent blur in which she could not bring herself to eat but every few days, let alone store any new memories.

It wasn't that which was different that compelled her now, rather that which was the same, and it was in his eyes that Lyanna recognized her younger brother, her faithful companion and playmate, back when none of them had any worries other than deciding how to find entertainment for that day.

She went into his arms in a hurry, and he was pleasantly surprised, judging by the sigh he let out before his arms squeezed tight around her.

„Lya, my dearest sister!“ he cried to her even before she released his neck.

At this point, Lyanna would usually hit him on the arm, reminding him she was his only sister, thus the title held little meaning. Back then, when they both had a father and another brother, and Lyanna was able to sustain her mirth for more than a couple of seconds.

This time, she did no such thing.

 

* * *

 

When she walks into the yard, on heels of men who carry her trunks, Ned is there, as is Catelyn, holding her own little boy in her arms. He was a bit older than her own Jon, blessed with sweet coppery hair that seemed like it would in time turn auburn, like his mother's. The only thing unfortunate about the child had been his namesake. And sure enough, Robert is there. Lyanna feels his imposing presence, feels him eyeing her as she moves to stand beside Benjen. It provokes anger within her, his brazen eyes tracing over in some sort of expectation. What did he want; for her to congratulate him for his war success?

When a wet-nurse arrives, Jon in her arms, Lyanna's heart skips a beat. She'd already said, or rather cried her farewells this morrow, convinced that Ned would not allow for Rhaegar's babe and Robert to cross paths. Lyanna did not wish for it either, but seeing Jon now, she was only glad. She needed to embrace him one last time, inhale the smell of the North that lingered in his locks, and gaze into those inquisitive eyes. The wet-nurse knows better than to hand him over to Ned, and Lyanna approaches her in turn, plucks her son from her arms.

As she holds him close to her, she feels him gazing somewhere over her shoulder, in Robert's direction. Could he feel it, she wondered? The whiff of savageness around him, the taste of death? Lyanna did not want him to gaze upon the man who killed his father, thus she shifted him in her arms, having his warm cheek pressed against her breast as she gave him a kiss on his little head.

„Lyanna had...grown quite fond of him.“ She hears Ned offering an explanation for her.

There is an awkward silence, likely due to Catelyn's presence, before Robert speaks again. „Your natural boy, is he not? He is all Stark, you had no choice but to claim him.“ Robert gives a boisterous laugh at this, though nervous and Lyanna can see Catelyn's cheeks redden. Poor woman, she did not deserve any of this. Lyanna wondered how she was able to maintain her softness, her kindness even after everything that happened to her. After all, she lost Brandon as well, and now was forced out of her dignity on Lyanna's behalf.

„He is.“ Ned confirms solemnly.

Robert appeared to be amused still. „There is little left of his mother in 'im, that's for sure.“ he says.

At this, Lyanna almost wanted to shout 'twas not true, that he was hers, hers and Rhaegar's - that he was a product of the love they felt for one another, love she would never feel for Robert, but she restrained herself from this all the same. These were unhinged thoughts that commonly passed through her head, only contained with the last bit of fear Lyanna felt.  She couldn't help but wonder how many seconds after such a proclamation would it take Robert to order one of his Kingsguards, perhaps the blonde Lannister man, to take Jon away and rid him of his life. She clutched to her son tighter.

„We ought to foster him some day, if my love is so fond of him.“ Robert says, noting it.

It was a blatant attempt to buy her affection, affection she could never give, yet Lyanna's heart jumped at the suggestion still. The thought that she could have her boy with herself, by her side, never be forced to part from him at all, it was difficult to deny the emotions it evoked.

Yet, when she considered what it would mean, that it would require her to accept a favor from a man who killed her husband, because of whom Jon did not have a father in the first place...nay. She would wither far away from Jon's side, but she would not allow him near Robert. Could not be so wicked to allow her son hold respect or affection for such a man. In her darkest moments, Lyanna fantasized about Jon growing up healthy and strong, taking up arms, and avenging his father once he learned the truth, if she could not do it herself.

Musing over this, Lyanna did not even realize all eyes were on her as she still held Jon, everyone around her exercising patience for the madwoman.

„Lya, come now.“ Ned calls in his regretful voice, and, kissing her son's curly head one last time, she slowly handed him over to Ned. Even snuggled in his large arms, Jon still looks to her, his grey eyes wide like he was confused by this, like he wondered why was he not in her arms as he always was when she was around.

Lyanna gave him a sad smile, that if it had words, would say forgive me **.**

Climbing into the wheelhouse, it took her every effort not to gaze back toward him, but she knew if she did, she might not leave at all. It was not an option. Thus, Lyanna angled herself into the shadowed contraption, and hid her face behind a curtain, hoping to feel movement as soon as possible, and not much else.

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

Rhaegar blinks once, then twice; his eyes close once more then but he musters the strength to lick his lips. By the Gods, he'd been so terribly parched, it felt to him like he had not tasted water in months. In fact, everything that was him ached in one way or another; a horrid, protruding pain in his chest made him much too aware of the single breath he drew. He was injured, that much had been certain.

But where was he? What was he?

„Lyanna.“ He calls weakly, even in this state aware her presence would tell him all he needed to know. She either was there and would hold his hand, or she was not. They either won, or they did not.

A voice reaches him in turn, but it is not the husky one he hoped for.

„Your Grace. You're awake!“ A young man, by the sound of it, exclaims, drawing Rhaegar's weak attention to the open doors. Before his eyes fully open, the servant disappears.

 _Your Grace_. That meant his father was dead. That meant they've likely lost. But how was he still alive then? His curiosity getting the better of the all-present ache, Rhaegar rises his head to have a weak look-around of the chamber surrounding him. This was not the Red Keep, he knew, neither was it Dragonstone. Where was he, then?

The answer soon comes in the form of a man.

* * *

 

„How did we lose?“ Rhaegar asks, leaning an arm against a window and his head against a hand in return. It was all he could do not to hiss in pain.

„Perhaps you should return to bed, Your Grace.“ Jon Connington grumbles with worry. If Rhaegar could survive losing a war or his entire dynasty falling, then he could damn well survive standing on his feet moons afterward.

„I am fine.“ Rhaegar hisses. „Answer my question.“

„That bastard, Robert Baratheon was a ruthless animal on the battlefield, Tywin Lannister was a cowardly traitor as much if not more than his son who shoved a sword into your father's back...take your pick. But this is not over, none of them are aware of you surviving. Myself and your other allies made sure of that. You will retake the Iron Throne and then that sorry bastard of your cousin will regret ever thinking of rising against your father, or you.“

Rhaegar laughed without mirth. „What allies? We effectively lost the war. Robert Baratheon is king now. Tywin Lannister ordered my entire family be slaughtered.“ A ball of hurt rose to Rhaegar's throat saying this, thinking of this. His sweet little daughter, Rhaenys, and his even younger son, who was no more than a babe. When Jon told him what the Lannisters have done, delivered their lifeless bodies to Robert Baratheon wrapped in Lannister cloaks, Rhaegar felt like he may lose his mind with grief. Their child bodies, bloodied and discarded and wrapped in traitor's cloaks, like little, fallen dragons who never even got the chance to fly...and all of it had been his fault. How had he not predicted this?

And his wife, Elia...Gods knew the affection Rhaegar held for her was far from extraordinary. Gods knew he kept to a joint table as much as what was polite, kept to her bed only as much was needed for his duty to be complete and no more, but none of it was to be blamed on her; it had been just another in the chain of his follies. Rhaegar had been selfish, driven by his selfish dreams and an ancient prophecy, or such was the excuse he made for himself. Elia herself had been faultless, helpless and in her last minutes she suffered immeasurably, watching her children be killed before her very eyes, before she herself was raped and killed, and by a man Rhaegar knighted himself.

Damn the sword he held in his hand that day, he should have slit his throat with it instead of laying it against his shoulder. The despicable Lannister bannerman bearing the sorry title of a knight, who brought merciless, repentless damage on an innocent woman and her children, _his_ wife and children. It almost made the notion of his own mother dying in childbirth and the girl being lost alongside her a mercy. At the very least, she didn't live to see her other son killed. His little brother, Viserys suffered much the same fate as Rhaegar's own children, only by another hand.

Rhaegar wanted, required revenge. But Rhaegar wasn't even sure where to start.

„And Lyanna? You are certain she is safe in Winterfell?“

„Aye, I'm certain.“

By the Gods, this had been the only bright spot for him in all of this. Jon had already told him about the death of his Kingsguard knights, of Arthur and Oswell dying, protecting her alone in that tower hidden in the Dornish mountains, exactly as he charged them to do. Jon kept talking, mentioning to him one fallen man after another and Rhaegar could only close his eyes, thinking, _please don't say it, don't, don't_. Please don't tell me she died off my folly too.

Apparently, she had been injured from what Jon heard, her brother carried her out in his arms and there had been blood. Her brother who fought alongside Robert Baratheon. Thankfully, Ned Stark loved his sister enough to take her back in under her house's wing and the word was that she'd largely recovered, in body at least. Rhaegar was too afraid to ask what precisely was meant by that.

„We need to reach her, Jon.“ Rhaegar insisted.

„What for?“ The redhaired man returned, baffled. „She is safe with her brother.There is nowhere she would be safer but in the North, and you have greater things to think about than...“

„Which greater things? She is my wife, for Gods' sake.“

„Elia was your wife too.“ Jon reminded. „Yet, you prioritised your kingdoms and the prophesy over her.“

„I didn't love Elia.“ Rhaegar found himself forlornly confessing. „I felt, I _feel_ guilty over everything that happened to her on my account, over everything she suffered. But I didn't love her, and I didn't start a war for her.“ The pretense was gone. Perhaps once, Rhaegar was able to convince both himself and others all that he had done had been for some perceived greater good. In truth, Rhaegar had been fascinated since the first moment he laid eyes on her, seeing the Mystery Knight's armor shedded only to reveal an unruly maiden in that Godswood. Fascination turned to lust, and lust turned to love and devotion stronger than anything Rhaegar had ever known. Perhaps the Gods wanted it so. Perhaps it was all part of a mechanism greater than him or her or any other man. Yet, Rhaegar had no Promised Prince or a throne to show for it. He only had his guilty heart. A guilty heart and a gap in his memory.

„How am I even alive? How did I end up here?“ Rhaegar gazed outside, to the gardens surrounding the mansion playing host to him. Illyrio Mopatis was the name of the man who took him and some of his surviving men in, he himself was one of the richest men in Pentos, as Rhaegar understood. According to Jon, there had been other allies, in and outside the kingdoms, yet this meant little to Rhaegar. What good was that damnable iron chair to him? He was wounded, exhausted and utterly defeated, and were it not for Lyanna, and knowing she is safe...

„You received word from the scouts noticing movement of Robert Baratheon's army right before the Battle at the Trident.“ Rhaegar nodded, he remembered this. He'd insisted on riding personally to gather as precise information as possible. Robert Baratheon's army grew in numbers every day, drawing in bannermen of every lord who had ever been dissatisfied with the Mad King's reign. With increasingly worsening conditions, Rhaegar knew the only way to win was with brain, not muscle. And information was crucial.

„You rode out with Ser Barristan, but your party was ambushed by bandits. Your men slayed most of them, yet a stray arrow...“

„Made its unfortunate way into my chest.“ Rhaegar sighed. That was about where his own memories stopped, and he had a scar near his heart to show for it.

„You fell off the horse, hit your head. The maester said he was not sure you'd live, and even if you did, he could not tell when you would wake up. There was a battle to be fought, and our army needed someone to lead it. The soldiers needed their prince fighting alongside them.“

„You dressed someone else in my armor.“ Rhaegar sighed. It was not a historically unheard of tactic, doing so and frightening the enemy by perception if not fact.

„We did. But when we saw we were losing, it needed to be more convincing than that. The poor squire sweating in your armor on your horse wouldn't have lasted a second before Robert Baratheon. And Ser Barristan, well, Ser Barristan was a great knight. One of the best, probably. He saved the Mad King, I don't need to tell you. He was one of the few men who could hope to fell you in any tourney.“

„And he did.“ Rhaegar remembered. If only had he felled him at Harrenhal, perhaps none of this would have ever happened.

„His pride and honor could not bear that harm came to you under his protection, he lamented of this to anyone who would listen. It was his idea to do it, and he did. He wounded Robert, almost defeated him. Yet, Robert, he was like an enraged animal.“ Jon grumbled distastefully. „He refused to die, probably even more stubborn in his thinking it was you who was before him. And his warhammer did the rest yet Barristan succeeded in his intention. No one even checked the body before putting it to the pyre, no one could imagine any other wounding Robert but you.“

Rhaegar's lips tightened. „He did not deserve to die like that, with not even that glory attached to his name. None of those men deserved to die like that.“

„They fought for their prince.“ Jon insisted intensely. „And I'm certain they would all do it again if they could. They believed in you. I still believe in you. Their deaths will not be in vain. We can gather more supporters, we can gather an army...“

„Can I gather the will to have even more men die for my cause once again?“ Rhaegar wondered aloud. „Even more, an empty one. Would it bring Elia and our children back even if I won? Or my mother and my brother?“

„What about Lady Lyanna? Do you not wish to be reunited with her?“ Jon asked, provoking Rhaegar to shake his head with wonder.

„But a second ago, you were telling me this had little to do with her.“

„Aye, I was, but it was for I knew you wouldn't listen anyway.“ Jon retorted flippantly.

It was true, Rhaegar had little to lose, but he still had a she-wolf he needed to reach and let her know he was still alive.

Perhaps it was better for her if he didn't, the thought came. Perhaps she didn't even mourn him and would not care to know for his well-being. That was what she told him when he shared the news of her father's and brother's demise with her.

 _I wish I had never come with you. I wish you had died instead,_ she told him.

She came around eventually, cried the saddest tears in the world that night into his chest as he held her, shushing her in vain, yet Rhaegar suspected that was for she had no one else of hers left. He did not understand her well then. Now, it was him who had nothing else to care for in the world but her. Her and revenge.

„It will not be easy, and it will not be fast. But there is little else to do, Your Grace.“

 


	9. Chapter 9

 

The last night before her wedding day, Lyanna dreamed.

This was not a simple dream, or an ordinary one, but it was one she was certain carried meaning. A message, sent to her from the Old Gods perhaps.

Lyanna closed her eyes only to open them again in sleep, and as soon as she did, she knew where she was. _The wolfswood._ Yet, the trees seemed higher than they should be, the ground seemed closer and when Lyanna inclined her head downward, she found her own muzzle brushing the ground. It was an unbelievably diverse palette of smells that hit against her then, making her think she was hungry and causing a vibration to flare up against her throat, one that soon resulted in a growl. Had she not had Old Nan and her scary tales, Lyanna would have wondered what exactly happened to her. But Lyanna knew, and she did not fight it.

She moved forward instead, tracing tracks of one smell that felt particularly appealing; it took close to no effort to move her paws or wag her tail, everything about this new form already felt learned and natural. There was only one thing that caused discomfort, and it was a heavy ache situated on her underside. Lyanna knew this pain even in human form, the weight of milk – it was a she-wolf she warged, she realized, perhaps one that was pregnant with pups, or one that had just recently given birth. And this smell before her, it was unbelievably sweet and fresh, inviting a strange longing, so much that Lyanna found herself fastening her pace and hurriedly passing one tree after the other as she continued sniffling, persistently following the trail. 

It was then that she saw the source of it, a little wolf-pup of white fur curled at the base of a tree, and the giant stag that cornered him there, representing threat and barring her from her pup all the same. Lyanna could not recall how everything happened so fast afterward;  how her teeth bared all by themselves and she growled, or how she threw herself onto the demonstrably larger stag, or how the warm blood from his neck filled her mouth as she teared at its flesh. By the time she was done, the stag was lying crimsoned and lifeless on the ground.

It was only then that the sweet pup let out its first little whine and opened its ruby red eyes, perhaps sensing a protective presence. In turn, Lyanna came closer; sniffling around her pup and licking its warm muzzle, the last thing she remembered feeling was relief. 

 

* * *

 

 Lyanna was getting fitted into her wedding dress, or rather suffocated by it, when a knock on the door came. Contrary to convention, it is the handmaidens that get shuffled out, and Benjen enters.

Upon seeing her, it is a somber smile that her brother gives her.

„My dearest sister, you do look lovely.“ He offers with a sigh.  „Lovely and sad.“

Lyanna shrugged, prompting him to come closer, rise a hand to her cheek for an instant. Ben finally speaks. „Oh Lya, tell me, what was that fool of our brother thinking? To send you so far South, away from the snows when we both know you'd rather be freezing on the Wall.“

„I already was South once.“ Lyanna observes.

„You were.“  Benjen says with a sigh. „And look how well that turned out.“

„You cannot say such things.“ Lyanna warns. „I am the pitiful victim of the dragon, remember? That is what everyone thinks, anyway.“ She adds with a sigh.

„Gods, Lya.“ Benjen says, even a hint of wonderment could have been detected in his voice. Her darling youngest brother, he was there at Harrenhal, and not smitten enough with Ashara to not pay attention unlike the two others. The idea of her being stolen against her will, it must have sounded like a jest to him as much as it did to her. Yet, he did not know all of it.

„When I heard that Robert had plans to wed you, and our brother was foolish enough to consider it, I thought you were going to let both him and Ned have it. I know that is not past you. So tell me, how come you agreed to this? I know you would rather cut off all your hair and join the Watch, Danny Flint style, except you would have me to protect you. And who would dare mess with a Stark.“

Lyanna smiled, though they both knew only half of it was jest.

„To tell you the truth, I was surprised you remained in Winterfell at first place.“ Benjen scratched his head. „I was even on the lookout for the sight of you among new recruits, yet you seem to have turned strangely domestic instead. Taking Ned's babe under your wing and all.“

„Ned's babe.“ Lyanna repeated, her voice trailing off.

„Aye, what is with that anyway?“ Benjen frowned. „If someone once told me one of our brothers would have a bastard, my bet wouldn't be on Ned for sure. No offense, dearest sister, but I'd sooner believe you had gotten into some mishap...“ He stopped then, due to what Lyanna assumed was the expression on her face. If she had to resign herself to a lifetime of living a lie, then at least she would have her brother know the truth.

Benjen's eyes widened in turn. „Nay Lya, tell me that is not...he is yours?“

„Benjen, you mustn't tell a soul.“ Lyanna urged him. „Promise me you won't tell anyone. That is why I am doing this, Ned thought it too risky for me to remain home. You see, if anyone found out...“ Lyanna could not even say it.

„Worry not, my dearest sister.“ Benjen said. „ I am just...stunned, I suppose. And who would I tell anyway? It is not like I have anyone else in the world but you. And aye, that honorable fool of our brother, even if he ought to have come up with a better solution than this. Tell me, how do I leave you here with a clear conscience?“

„Do not worry for me.“ Lyanna convinced. „I shall be well. I know why I am doing this.“

The look on Benjen's face said he was not as persuaded.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. It is a handmaiden that peers her head into the room.

„M'lady, m'lord, forgive me, but we still need to prepare m'lady. The jewellery arrived as well, so...“

„I suppose I should go.“ Benjen says with a little sigh. Even before Lyanna seeks out the affection herself, her younger brother pulls her closer, and gives her a kiss on her head. „Do remember, if you ever grow tired of this place, you can always write to the Wall and have your younger brother figure something out. Hmm?“

Once they pulled apart, Lyanna offered a nod, and then her brother was gone.

„M'lady.“ The handmaiden says once again. Behind her, a couple of equally young girls shuffle in, carrying some sort of velvet-lined pillows. Only once they approach does Lyanna realize it is a choice of necklaces they are trying to present to the future queen. It was only unfortunate the queen cared little for the design of her shackles.

Regardless, the handmaidens themselves seemed in awe of all the noble metals and expensive gems, and, perhaps out of desire not to appear spoiled, Lyanna tried to feign some excitement about this. Robert did not spare coin when it came to the preparations, that much had been certain from the start, and had Lyanna been more of a Southron blushing bride as opposed to an imprisoned she-wolf, she might have indulged in this spending for weeks, getting all the details just right. Instead, Lyanna insisted on only that which was purely necessary, trying to keep the day itself out of her mind as much as possible.

Between themselves, the handmaidens held five or six necklaces, and Lyanna let herself briefly look over them. One of them was fast to catch her attention; it was of silver, fashioned into frosting-like ends around glistening sapphire stones. Lyanna found it reminding her of her crown of winter roses, and she almost chose it for that fact alone. _Perhaps it may remind Robert of it as much as it does me._

Yet in that precise moment, another handmaiden hurriedly shuffled in with a velvet pillow of her own, murmuring an apology. As the girl approached, Lyanna got a proper look at the necklace she aimed to present; it had been a choker composed of large, glistening rubies, their color as deep as blood. Apart from the obvious connection, Lyanna found it reminded her of the ruby-eyed pup from her dream.

„I think I shall like this one.“ She said, and the handmaidens hummed their approval.

„If I daresay, it will look lovely on you, m'lady.“ One of them said. „It will bring out the natural redness of m'lady's lips, our king is bound to be enchanted.“

It was unfortunate that appealing to Robert was the last thing Lyanna wished for.

 

* * *

 

The light is bright in the Great Sept of Baelor. Lyanna remembered Rhaegar whispering her tales about this place – their pillow talk often evolved into history lessons - which Lyanna normally would have found tedious, but not when it was he who told her all this. She was delighted with the way he spoke of these events of old, the way he chose his words carefully to paint a perfect picture, and how Lyanna often had to restrain from accusing him of making it all up, for those stories often sounded far too wonderful to be true.

Thus, he told her even of this place created by one of his ancestors, how grand and bright is was, and how extravagantly built. He told her they may need to renew their vows here upon the war concluding and Lyanna had little issue imagining this; neither of them ever dreamed that he may lose.

Yet, now Lyanna had another man standing before her, one whose gaze she could feel heavy on her as the High Septon prattled on, reading from his large book. Robert seemed quite dumbfounded until the end of this part of ceremony, his eyes seemingly fixed to her cleavage (which was somewhat more ample than it used to be, a courtesy of her pregnancy). Yet, even Robert had more decency than to mentally undress his bride in a Sept before countless guests, and it was then that Lyanna remembered the necklace. She discreetly lifted a hand, touching her fingers to the rubies and in turn Robert's strict blue eyes rose to rest on hers, confirming her suspicion.

„You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.“ The High Septon's voice came.

Lyanna turned her back to Robert, unclasping her own Stark cloak that she wore for the purposes of this superfluous ceremony, and soon a heavier cloak, no doubt with a crowned stag on it was placed onto her shoulders. If Lyanna did not feel treacherous now, she thought she never would. She supposed not having a choice helped with this some.

Then, it was a white ribbon that was tied over hers and Robert's joined hands – another ridiculousness, and Lyanna moved her lips to say the practiced vows, yet the words barely came out.

„Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger, I am his and he is mine from this day until the end of my days.“

 _These are not my gods, and I am not his._ Lyanna internally assured. These were void, duplicitous words and they simply flew into the wind, with no heart tree nearby to hear.

Lyanna had been far too numb to feel anything once her new husband towered over and kissed her.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: If any of you have any R/L prompts you would like to share, I would love to hear them. Another thing; I've sort of just recently started writing and I'm kinda beginning to be out of my depth with all of this. I am having fun though, and I want to improve, so I am also sort of looking for another RL writer who would want to be writer buddies. Not necessarily collaborated work, but more like someone to exchange ideas with and/or have as a mutual beta. I don't know if this is even a thing lol, but if anyone would happen to be interested in this, you can contact me privately on knight.fall.rl@gmail.com. Thank you, and now onto the chapter!

Robert is nervous. The Great Hall is packed with drunken lords and giggling ladies, there is singing and laughing and dancing, yet Lyanna is interested in none of it, and neither is Robert it seems. Nay, it was only his cup that held his attention, and at times, when he thought she didn't feel him staring, she herself would become of interest to him, like a bird trapped in pale snow, her wings tied to her body with ribbon and lace lest she flee. They made for quite a sight, the unhappy newlyweds.

Why does he drink, she wonders? It is none of her business and Lyanna doesn't truly care, and yet she wonders. Is it a habit he acquired far too long ago to give up? Is he trying to obliviate the image of Rhaegar out of his mind, for Lyanna knows he is just as aware of it as she is; that she isn't his bride, not truly and will never be, no matter how many times he kills Rhaegar in his sleep. Is it perhaps that he is trying to soothe away the guilt of what he is to do later, force himself on a woman who in his mind already suffered this trauma once? But he is different than Rhaegar, both he and Lyanna agree.

There is no question in Lyanna's mind on whether he will bed her afterwards or not. They both know he doesn't have the self-restraint not to, and now their unconsummated marriage gives him a fresh pretext to use her body as if he owned it; a wedding is not valid without a bedding after all. He is probably thinking of a million excuses right now.

Poor, weak Robert. Perhaps she overestimates him even in this; once she thought her disappearance would speak all the words she put on paper for her lord father to read, yet he didn't, and it didn't. Could he truly not see it, Robert, that Lyanna didn't want him, doesn't want him and would have nearly to have never contemplated his existence if only hadn't he so incessantly tried to insert himself into her life as well as into her body? And yet he could do little else than kill to accomplish this, for that was the extent of negotiation that Robert understood. He either didn't care about something, or he felt entitled to it. And unfortunately, he cared plenty for Lyanna.

Once Robert has had his full capacity of wine, he calls for his Kingsguard and soon enough the two of them are walking down the hallway, and two white shadows are trailing behind; one of them is Ser Jaime Lannister and Lyanna does not know or care about the other. Lyanna had already grown sick of them, perhaps even more than her new husband for the familiar clack of white armor flairs up unwanted memories of longing and isolation. It was common procedure for a royal wedding, that the newlyweds be escorted by the Kingsguard as it is considered undignified for lords to rip at their queen's undergarments, as if it is somehow more dignified when the king does it.

The doors close behind them. It appears Lyanna had been wrong about Robert having his fair share of wine for the wine goblet is the first thing he reaches for once it is just the two of them. But then he puts it down and his imposing presence reaches her. He asks her if she is scared.

Perhaps Lyanna could say yes, elicit some sympathy based on her imaginary predicament, and Robert may delay sticking his cock in her for another night. Yet, that would only prolong the terror and Lyanna shakes her head no. „I am no maiden.“ she says.

It is what both of them are thinking yet Robert got roused into some surprising state nonetheless, as if she'd just imparted some news to him. Perhaps all the while he had been pretending that she had been awaiting him unsoiled, like freshly fallen snow. Men had an unbelievable capacity to lie to themselves.

„Nay, you're not.“ He finally says, roughly. „That dragonspawn deflowered you, he took you away from me.“ Rage simmered beneath his surface, reminiscent of the one she overheard at Winterfell; no doubt identical to the one he felt in the exact moment he was felling him.

Lyanna hated that he had been the last person Rhaegar had seen before he died, and that rage, such a dirty, unrefined emotion had been the end of him, when Lyanna would have prefer it a thousand times if she could have convinced him to stay, and they could have both drank some concoction and dwindled off to death in each other's arms. Yet, there was no convincing him; Rhaegar was a trained warrior, and hoping to save their life, he rode off to Trident to his own death. He fought well, everyone said. Books could have been written about the grace and skill with which he handled his sword, yet he did not burn with destruction the way Robert did, and it was his utmost gentleness that was the end of him.

Robert right now, he tried to be gentle in removing her clothes yet was failing pathetically, perhaps it was that his mind was slurring and his hands had no finesse even in his most sober state. 

„Yet you are mine now.“ He told her, eyes tracing over her form only covered with smallclothes and a nightshift. Her figure was maidenly enough, thankfully, the childbirth left its minimal toll otherwise Lyanna would have had greater concerns. „He may have had you first, but he is dead, and I will make you happy.“

Despite the fact that she tried to be brave, Lyanna trembled like a leaf in the storm once he edged her backwards into the bed and then settled his suffocating weight over her.

„Lyanna.“ He whispered to her ear. „It doesn't matter that he had you first for he is gone.“ The more he convinced himself the more Lyanna knew, she knew her missing maidenhead stole his many nights of sleep, and would steal as many nights to come. This wasn't love for him, even if he so foolishly thought it was, it was the most base type of possession, such that couldn't bear another man coming along and picking up his desired toy. Could he have been anymore different from Rhaegar if he tried?

Poor Rhaegar even complained about the fact she was still a maiden untouched, he did not want to cause her any sort of pain ever, he said. Lyanna felt like she could melt into a puddle, but she hit him on his arm instead, asked him how could he ever think that lowly of her until he shushed her with a kiss. And his kisses, they somehow tasted like joy and despair at the same time.

She did not fear the pain then, in a state that felt scary and unfamiliar to her maiden self; all she could think of was how badly she wanted to allow him between her thighs. Yet he tarried; he kissed her skin here and there, cradled her body in his hands gently, even moved to dive between her thighs until Lyanna pulled him up, looked at him in a way she hoped said _enough_ and then savagely kissed him.

This was nothing like that. It was not that Lyanna expected or even wanted to enjoy her marriage bed with Robert – she didn't, she would hate herself if she did and it would make things far too complicated as opposed to how they were now, painfully simple. Yet, Lyanna did not expect the wave of visceral disgust that flared up within her either.

Robert is handsome – truly, any maiden could attest to this. Lyanna might have had a grudge to hold but she could not deny that Robert was an objectively desirable man. This was why, curled up at night with a hand between her thighs she feared her marriage bed; it was not the pain she feared (it seemed so trivial that was once a concern, now after enduring hours of childbirth), and she did not anticipate the disgust.

What Lyanna truly dreaded was the idea she may find Robert tolerable, even appealing in a purely base, animal manner, that she may find forbidden thrill in her marriage bed as she once did. Except only now, it wasn't conventions or her family that she would be putting aside (Lyanna once thought it to be temporary – how naive of her), it would be her own heart that would collapse under this betrayal, truly leaving her a base shell of herself who did not deserve much better after all.

For what if it was, even then, the act itself that incensed her so strongly, made her veins sing with wolf's-blood that merely waited to be stirred, awakened and Rhaegar was simply the first, the only, her love, the most gentle, beautiful man that accomplished this, the first to carry her to these heights of pleasure, thus she learned to associate him with pleasure itself.

Thus, Lyanna was relieved when her first wedding night (not _the_ first, of course) turned out to be strangely flat, and dejecting more than anything else.

When Robert leaned in over her, trying to kiss her sloppily though it seemed there was some genuine effort toward restraint – the heartbreaking story of Rhaegar being her captor assured that even Robert, notorious for thinking about his prick more than about anything else could not be so selfish -  even then, the first thing Lyanna noticed had been the stench of wine on his breath, which was not surprising considering how he spent the entire time since their return from the sept.

This thing hadn't been so bad in itself – Rhaegar drank wine too at times, the only difference was that he made sure her cup wasn't empty either, and the fact he drank in the same manner he did everything else - moderately and gracefully where Robert simply did not know how to quit.

Then, there was the rough stubble against her skin that annoyed as well – Rhaegar shaved regularly and even when he didn't, the sparse silver hairs that sprung were soft and never annoyed, only tickled her, further endearing him to her.

She often jested how his face was as soft as a babe's bum, though it was only a jest halfway – he had this incredible gift of having every man's trait that made a man beautiful, and lack every that elicited that repulsion to the simple, to the unrefined – and Robert was the definition of that. For most men, Lyanna found their appeal was only an illusion that lasted a second or two because every one of them, it seemed, had a conniving, disgusting primal existence that lurked beneath their surface, and women, poor souls who grow up thinking they have a choice, that their father will give them a choice, but they do not really, and their father won't -  they are trained to turn a blind eye to this, tell themselves their lord husband is not that bad after all.

And yet, this was not how it was with Rhaegar – he hadn't a single dominant or crushing bone in his male body, and perhaps that was what made him so otherworldly, so damnably beautiful to her in the first place. While Lyanna felt the need to keep other men at a sufficient distance (and they all, always, just once, tried to get too close – even Domeric who knew better, even Robert who only had to wait to have her) she wanted Rhaegar as near as she could have him from the moment she laid eyes on him. Beside her, inside her, kissing her, loving her, holding her – it did not matter, she simply wanted him.

This was where any sense in comparing stopped, for once Robert pushed into her, and without warning, Lyanna could only yelp in pain and constrict beyond reason, as if to counter the unlawful intrusion. _It is not his fault_ – her mind rushes to make excuses for him despite herself. It is almost like it is Ned's voice that is inside her own head, uttering all the justifications that hardly beared repeating -  _he is inebriated, he was nervous because he loves you and wanted to please you_ – even if he ended up doing the opposite of that (and again, Lyanna wasn't complaining).

The alternative, well – the alternative would be far more devastating because even when resentment of other hurt and consumed one's insides, she supposed the hatred of oneself could do twice this damage. Yet, even with the comfort of this realization, all Lyanna wanted was for him to stop. Perhaps this was the wolf's blood part, the incontrolable part – the one Lyanna did not own, and one that she loved setting free - that part, despite its unpredictability, its instinct of grabbing, clamoring for survival, adaptation as dirty as it may be, that part protested as fiercely to Robert as her rational mind did.

Her mind refused him, and her body refused him as well.

There was a bitter sense of victory in all of this. One could bring a mare to the water, but no one, not even the king with all his allies, and his muscles, and his warhammer could make her drink. He crushed her prince and separated her from her pup and now Lyanna knew, she _knew_ that she could, had to crush him.

She restrained from making this commitment sooner for a woman's own instinct was one of nurturing, not violence, and Lyanna wanted to make sure she had the capacity to do this before she made any promises to herself.

Thus, once Robert finished and rolled off her with a grunt, settling his weight beside her  and instantly falling asleep, Lyanna ignored the disgusting, sticky feeling between her thighs for long enough to turn to her side as well, and brush her fingers against the side of his face.

 It was the most tenderness she could muster for him, and Lyanna wanted to remember offering it to him, so that seeing him draw in his last breaths would be all the more satisfying.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I'm really sorry for the delay! Second, I did however have a sort of a mental breakthrough when it came to this, so pretty good chance this will have a decent closure even if it takes me a while to get there. Thank you for reading!

 

Rhaegar folds the paper detailing a certain recent royal wedding, near crumpling it in his fist, and gives a glance behind himself.

It irritated him to find Jon is not his usual picture of boldness, rather his typically lively eyes are guarded as if he anticipates a rich display of emotion from himself; maybe cursing, an item or two from the table being tossed onto the ground, yet Rhaegar was never that man and he would never be. Jon knew this too, and perhaps it was telling he doubted it. Instead, Rhaegar merely deposits the letter on the surface of the desk, parting from it as if that would mean parting from its chafing contents. 

„Perhaps she was forced into it by her lord brother.“ Jon offers from behind.

Rhaegar doubted this very much. Ned Stark's, as well as his elder brother's protective tendencies toward Lyanna had been much clear from the start. One of them lost his life for it. It had been near impossible after everything, to imagine the other forcing Lyanna into a marriage not of her choosing.

 _„I am their younger sister.“_ Lyanna would explain to him, and with much pride, too. Lyanna spoke much of her brothers, back when such a thing brought her more joy than pain. Through her stories, Rhaegar had gotten to know the wolf-blooded Brandon, the solemn but honorable Ned, and the youngest one, her partner in crime, Benjen. It almost felt a crime, to understand the full extent of his actions, to think at times he did no more than lured a little she-wolf away from her pack, yet these thoughts would fade whenever Lyanna would smile, and draw him closer for a kiss, promising there was nowhere else she would rather be. 

„Don't you miss your family?“ He would ask her still, sometimes as they lay in bed and a particularly forceful bolt of guilt would shoot through him, prompted by the thoughts of Elia and their children, those he himself left behind.

„You are my family now,“ Lyanna would always reply. Then, she would take his hand and lift it to her face to brush her cheek against it, or to kiss his fingertips. At times, she would rest it against her belly, maybe in fantasy even though there was no babe there yet. Still, he loved it when she would do it, he loved and found charm in anything she could ever do.

It was only after the news of her lord father's and brother's demise that something changed, something broke between them. He hadn't been the only one plagued with guilt any longer, he'd been dispirited to understand as Lyanna's once loving gaze became bleary and fixed more and more aimlessly into the distance, perhaps clouded by the vision of her elder brother's in his highest points, or at time of his death. She wanted to return to Winterfell. He said no.

„Will you kill him?“ One night she asked into the silence, thinking him asleep. Rhaegar hadn't been. „Even if you capture him, please don't kill him.“  

It was Ned, her solemn brother that she spoke of, for Robert Baratheon's well-being was non-negotiable and she knew it.

She never asked this expecting an answer, perhaps for she feared receiving one, and thus Rhaegar did not answer. He only vowed not to forget these words when the day for judging the rebels came.

Rhaegar himself, having only had a younger brother, and one much too young for any meaningful connection between them be formed, understood this little. Yet, he doubted it was a mere sibling bond that drove Brandon Stark on his journey to the gates of the Red Keep, and from there to his death, or what prompted the younger Eddard to lead the entire North into rebellion. Perhaps that was on Lyanna herself, and her strange ability to inspire such fierce devotion in those around her; she had been the most loveable creature Rhaegar had ever known. It was being loved by her that was a privilege, and one that he, by all accounts, lost.

„Are there any other news?“ Rhaegar is cold enough to ask of the other man.

„We did receive a letter of invitation from the Golden Company.“ Jon is quick to inform. „Their answer is by all accounts positive. However, they would like to meet Your Grace in person; they apologize for the inconvenience, yet still claim not to give loans without sufficient reassurance their gold is going to a profitable cause. I could pressure them...“

„No need.“ Rhaegar declared. Perhaps this journey may even help him clear his mind. „They are doing me a favor, and we can humor them in this. They want to be reassured I can win with a bunch of sellswords.“

 „You have more than sellswords on your side.“ Jon is quick to point out. „You yourself as your allies know the passages of the Red Keep better than any other man Robert could dream of having on his side. The common people adore you, and so does many a lord who supported you faithfully, and will support you again once he learns you are alive. Robert Baratheon did not win, he only thinks he did. This war is not over for as long as you live.“

„My father lost his castle due to betrayal of a man he thought was loyal to him.“ Rhaegar mused. „He trusted his advisors, opened the gates and allowed his own city be sacked. Who guarantees that even if I manage to command an army of sellswords to King's Landing, that my allies there truly are that? The only real advantage we have is the element of surprise. One word from Varys to Robert Baratheon and that disappears.“

Jon shook his red head in disagreement.  „If the eunuch was to betray you, he would have done so already. I wished I could say otherwise, but your life is in part indebted to him. He was also not the one who betrayed the Mad King, he counseled caution against Tywin Lannister. It had been that rat Pycelle that lead your father into trusting a traitor. But the Lannisters will get what is coming to them. Both Tywin and his Kingslayer son, you wouldn't be ill-advised to bring the dragon's wrath upon their entire house. Anyone who ever betrayed you will receive their due.“

Rhaegar wondered if Jon counted a certain she-wolf among those. He wondered if he himself should. „And what of the North?“ He asks instead, yet well relaying that which is truly on his mind. „The North is distant and vast, killing Robert Baratheon and taking back King's Landing will mean little to them in terms of bending the knee. They may even wish for independence.“

„The North is tired of war.“ Jon counters. „Those men frankly care little to whom their liege bends the knee, as long as they are governed by a Stark. And once King's Landing is taken, wishing to assure Lady Lyanna's safety ought to be incentive enough for peace.“

 _Queen Lyanna_. Rhaegar corrected internally. _She is a queen._ Strangely enough, she was one no matter the perspective. Why Lyanna, why, was what he wished to ask, yet couldn't. No hours of musing upon this would bring him any closer to an answer. Did she hate him? Did she just not love him? Would he be able to hurt her if it came to be thus? Rhaegar knew not.

 


	12. Chapter 12

 

The blonde Lannister boy is assigned to keep watch over her.

Lyanna does not ask why, though she does wonder. Robert was not so easy of trust; not by any means exceedingly intelligent but neither as dumb to intrust his _loving wife_ to the man who betrayed and murdered his own king. Then again, perhaps Robert was just incapable of seeing such parallels. He had never been just another man, just another lord, just another king, as foolish and vulnerable and susceptible to mistake as everyone else, for Robert, the world began and ended with what pleased him, and what he thought was right. And perhaps this was just his way of paying his debts to the lions, for their own role in removing _dragonspawn_. If only he knew...

Still, Lyanna thinks the honor, or the dishonor is fitting. The prosperous young knight guarding the queen. Or the traitor and kingslayer guarding the dragon's whore. The only difference between them was that his crimes were well-known to any man and his deriding title spoken much more openly, while the truth about Lyanna stays hidden out of weakness, willful ignorance of the man preferring to believe he'd won than consider the cruel mockery fate has made out of all three of them. Robert loved Lyanna, Lyanna loved Rhaegar, and Rhaegar loved songs. _You are my song, Lyanna_ , he'd told her once. _And together, we are the song of Ice and Fire._

Ser Jaime, however, liked to be quiet. Lyanna had on a couple of occasions attempted to initiate small talk, even called him _Kingslayer_ once in attempt of provocation, yet that had only resulted in the corner of the knight's mouth tightening, but he did not respond to this injury to his pride. Lyanna herself did not know why she cared that much; perhaps only because having a silent white shadow at her back at all time was disconcerting; it reminded her far too much of Rhaegar's white cloaks who went from being kind to her and enjoyable travel companions, to cold statues who knew too much and spoke too little, treating her as not much more than a broodmare carrying Rhaegar's child. That sound of white armor, she hated it, and her body tension tangibly lessened once she reached the heart tree and the knight at her back halted in his movements. The silence of a godswood, she hated it too, though she once found consolation in it, and on one occasion, inexplicable joy. Perhaps that was _why_ she hated it, but the Red Keep was a busy place, brimming with strange faces directing uncomfortable looks, and this had been the one piece of land resembling the North that Lyanna could find refuge in.

Lyanna touched a hand to the trunk of the heart tree, lovingly even, but she did not kneel and she would not pray. Her troubles were beyond the Gods' intervention right now, anyway. They weren't even troubles, for troubles are for those who can experience pain. Lyanna could not right now, not any longer. Lyanna was numb, and just a bit bored, and running her fingers over the red leaves fallen and gathered under the heart tree, she found herself speaking again to the silent knight at her back.

„You know, Ser Jaime, we do not have to be enemies. And since it seems we're to spend a lot of time together, we might as well try for a friendship.“

Strangely enough, this time the knight offers an answer. „I don't think my sister would like that.“

The sister mentioned being Cersei Lannister, every bit as fair and tall and proud as he was. She had traipsed about the court, sending smug smiles everyone's way, smiles that said _My father is a great lord and the Hand of the King, but I will be more._ Lyanna understood her ambition, at least cognitively, if she could not exactly sympathize.

„Somebody should let your sister know, Ser Jaime, there is little more to being queen than being a glorified broodmare.“

„I don't suppose you would volunteer that information.“ Ser Jaime says, a smug little smirk on his chiseled lips, one of someone accustomed to speak either to those below him, or those on the same ground as him. Despite him being her knight, and Lyanna being his queen, they were raised on equal grounds, both children of a Great House, both having their life carved out for them and then betraying this expectation. Lyanna was supposed to birth children to Robert who was to be lord, and Ser Jaime was to have been heir to Casterly Rock. Yet he preferred his white cloak, and Lyanna thought she knew why.

„Do you love your sister, Ser Jaime?“ When he didn't answer, Lyanna turned her head to him.

„Of course I do.“ He said. „All men love their sisters.“

„Brandon loved me.“ Lyanna closed her eyes; the memories of him always popped up suddenly, and overwhelming, much like he himself had been. She didn't know why she was saying this to the knight, perhaps for he had nowhere else to be, and she had no one else to listen. „He loved me exceedingly, some may say. He loved me enough that when the news of my disappearance reached him, he lost all sense. And someone else never had it.“ She didn't need to explain how mad the Mad King was to the man who spent all those moons by his side.

„I was there.“ Jaime confirms. „He did love you. His last words were of you.“

„Would you have done the same thing for your sister? If she'd just disappeared, would you have ...?“

„Without doubt.“ Jaime confirms.

Lyanna smiled. „She is lucky, then. I hope she appreciates you.“

„She doesn't.“ She thought she heard Jaime mutter under his breath, or perhaps it was just the wind whirling in the crowns of the trees. He remarks on something else instead. „You sound guilty. It wasn't your fault. Even if it was, it wasn't.“

The implication wasn't lost on her. Jaime knew, well he didn't know, but he suspected it. Everyone did. Everyone but Robert. No one dared tell him, and even if they did, he would not listen.

„Did you love him?“ Jaime suddenly asks. The tense gives it away; he speaks not of Robert, but of that which is not to be spoken of under Robert's roof, if you fear him and his drunken threats which you very well should. The Lannister boy already killed one king, she doubted he wanted to do it again. Perhaps then he should be grateful they were in the domain of the Old Gods with no prying ears to hear, merely weeping, sneering faces that Lyanna used to love so much. Now they give her chills.

„We do not choose who we love.“

Jaime sighs. „No, we don't.“

Lyanna blinked down; when her vision blurred next, she thought she might have begun crying, but that was not it at all. A feeling of a sickness to her stomach accompanied the dizzying spell, and Lyanna wondered just how could the Old Gods resent a mortal so much.

 


	13. Chapter 13

 

The next week passing bloodless confirmed Lyanna's suspicion. She was indeed with child. The initial dizziness was simply written off as weakness by everyone, including Robert who remained none the wiser about this. He would hear of it from her mouth only if Lyanna felt particularly cruel and the deed was already done.

That morning, she is accompanied by Ser Jaime as usual, though this time Lyanna elected to spend her time riding. She hadn't ridden a horse in years it seemed to her, and this morning the urge came to her, and she followed, with little concern over the life inside her. Lyanna was an excellent rider either way.

The knight, _kingslayer,_ accompanies her on her return too, but just as he is about to occupy his usual place before her doors, Lyanna rests a hand on his arm plate, and gestures for him to enter inside.

Making sure the doors are properly shut, Lyanna turns and takes a breath. Seeing the knight's incredulous expression, Lyanna decided the situation would not get any less tense than it already was, and thus quickly cut to the chase.

„Ser Jaime...I need you to get me moon tea. I would get it myself, but I don't trust any servants here not to go blabbing this to your sister, or even Robert himself.“

Jaime scowls, in a way which almost makes her think he was going to laugh. „And you trust me enough to ask this of me? Killing the king's seed is treason.“

„I have no choice but to trust you, Ser Jaime.“ Lyanna says, blinking down. „Either you help me, or I'll have no choice but to help myself. Then, how will you explain to Robert that his beloved wife killed herself on your watch?“

„The guards take breaks to take a piss all the time. Besides, maybe you were just awfully quiet. No one would think to blame the guard outside the doors for a madwoman doing what madwomen do.“

Though the knight's words were of blatant dismissal, Lyanna proudly held his gaze. „Robert would. Robert loves me. He might not kill you, but he could make your life hell in a million different ways.“ And Robert would. Lyanna wondered if the thought of freezing on the Wall was enough to make him reconsider. Only the Starks found joy in winter.

„Perhaps.“ Jaime returns. „Perhaps not. Perhaps we should find out. Your Grace.“ With that, the arrogant knight offered a bow that could be described as nothing but sardonic, and went to the doors.

„I know about you and your sister.“ Lyanna heard herself blurt out. This gets his attention; the moment which it takes him to come to a halt and turn around seemed to her like an eternity.

Still, Lyanna kept her jaw firm and her voice level. „I know better than to judge love, but others like Robert might be differently inclined. Perhaps I shall whisper it sweetly in his ear one evening.“ Her bargaining chip, Lyanna had stumbled upon this piece of information by pure accident; one night, she was parched with water nowhere in sight, as well as Ser Jaime who was to have been at her doors. Instead, the doors to his own sister's bedchambers, adjacent to Lyanna's own in the Maidenvault were left open. She, oddly enough, had no qualms about this; Rhaegar's own parents were siblings, and her own were cousins. One did not choose whom one loved afterall.

Jaime's eyes narrow as he carelessly retorts. „No one would believe you. It would only reaffirm what men already think of you, that you are mad and unfit for a queen.“

„Perhaps. Perhaps not.“ Lyanna returns, cold as ice. „Perhaps we should find out.“

 

* * *

 

That evening, Lyanna sits on her bed, wringing her hands in her lap and wondering whether Ser Jaime will do good on his word. He would, he had to; after all, Lyanna did not persuade him thanks to the goodness of his heart, but rather in blackmail. If by any chance she hadn't, she would have made good on her promise to kill herself; in her circumstances, such a thing seemed far less dire than it should be. Perhaps that would even be better for everyone. Lyanna had one and only one reason left to live, and that had been Jon. Jon was and would be her one and only, her dragonpup, her babe. He had already made his first steps, according to Ned's last letter, and Lyanna wasn't there to see them.

But she had been so away, or rather _kept away_ from him, and soon enough, he would forget she ever existed except perhaps for a faint distant memory of a faceless, nameless woman who birthed him and held him and loved him. But even then, even if he remembered her, no doubt such memories would bitter with resentment as he wondered why, just why did his mother abandon him if she indeed loved him. 

 Indeed, Ned claimed him as his own, and Lyanna was forever grateful, yet, she knew better than to think Catelyn's passion for propriety would allow her to extend the same affection to her husband's bastard boy as she would her own children, to a degree, she had seen it with her own eyes. Lyanna could not blame her; after all, she knew just what love mothers held for their children, and what scorn they had for those who threatened them in any aspect.

 But oh, Lyanna simply could not, she could not raise, could not love another child, dark-haired and blue-eyed, a child of the man who killed her son's father, when her first babe had been so far away, wanting for his mother. And Robert, he had not only separated her from her son, but he had also approved of the killing of Rhaegar's other two children, while their mother watched. His seed did not deserve a womb to quicken in. It certainly did not deserve her womb.  

A knock on the door comes; Lyanna wiped the corners of her eyes for any tears before rising upward and swinging the wooden doors open. Before her was a young, wide-eyed girl holding the so desired tray with tea, so young that it initially stunned Lyanna, but then again, she had only been a little younger than Lyanna herself. Sometimes Lyanna forgot that she was merely seven-and-ten, with having lived through more upheaval than she guessed most people did in their lifetime.

The other girl appears frightened, casting a nervous glance to her right, where a glimpse of white armor reveals Ser Jaime to be. He must have been none too subtle in his insistence for the girl's discretion, and the girl appeared terrified of him and the shining blade that hung from his hip. Lyanna suddenly felt sorry for her.

„M'lady.“ The girl croaked, and Lyanna realized she had been largely clueless of to whom exactly she was providing the draught. It had been better thus; Ser Jaime certainly made sure of the girl's ignorance, for this secret uncovered would mean ruin for the both of them. He needn't to have frightened her to this extent though.

„All is well.“ Lyanna tried to reassure to her best capacity. She slowly took the tray away from the girl, depositing it onto her bed before she reached for the before-prepared purse of silver. Coin Lyanna did not lack, though she would have to make up some insipid reason for having spent it if Robert presumes to ask.

The girl was initially confused with the new weight lowered into her arms, but then an incredulous smile broke out on her face, one that she by all means tried to hide. Lyanna only smiled back. _I hope it makes you happy the way it never made me happy, darling girl._

 


	14. Chapter 14

The queen had not awoken in three days.

 

It was Jaime who stood at her doors as Pycelle, his minions and other servants shuffled in and out, caring for the queen after her unfortunate loss of child. Robert dropped by at times too, apparently worried enough even after Pycelle had said the queen was likely to recover. It had come as a surprise, this complication, for as far Jaime knew, the tea was merely supposed to cause a miscarriage, and not an associated fever and a threat of death. Suspicious, Jaime had even pursued the servant girl who brought the tea, and after intense questioning, decided she had not been paid by a third party to harm the queen. Nonetheless, Jaime searched out  further assurance of this by exploring how much of this Cersei herself knew. She did not appear to know of the moon tea, merely considered Lyanna's state a blessing from the heavens.

Of course, Jaime had no reason to care other than for his own involvement in this. Lyanna had been right in one thing; even if Robert were to see her kill herself before his very eyes, he would find some way to blame the guard outside for it. And, it had been no secret Robert did not care for Jaime; the feeling had been mutual.

Truth be told, Jaime simply could not see Robert as king. The title itself was one that hardly corresponded any man, and out of all that Jaime knew, Rhaegar had been the only who had such an air around himself, who had inspired devotion in the men around him, and truly appeared as someone worth following. Jaime even recalled the somberness he felt after hearing Rhaegar fell at the Trident; it wasn't grief, precisely, as much as a feeling that something that could have been great was lost. Even the famous Ser Arthur Dayne, the most honorable knight Jaime had ever known, prefered to die guarding Rhaegar's mistress on a dead man's orders, rather than protect the Mad King's other son. But now, like countless other great men, Arthur was dead, and Rhaegar was dead, as were his wife and children, and the only thing left of him was his mistress, who, by the looks of it, would have preferred if she was dead as well. But Jaime could not allow this to happen; she was his _queen_ after all, Robert's wife, though Robert was no king, and Jaime was sworn to protect her. The same task once given to the three of the Kingsguard, and they all died completing it. Jaime was in no danger of that, unless the cause of death was to be boredom. As insufferable as that woman was at times, Jaime had to admit speaking with her was more entertaining than guarding the doors as she slept.

But it appeared boredom would end, for Jaime's night replacement arrived, and soon enough, he had been on his way to Cersei.

She had greeted him with a girlish giggle, one he certainly did not expect, but before he could ask-

„Pycelle gave me news.“ She had told him. Jaime's eyebrow cocked, as he wondered at the likelihood of these news involving moon tea. No doubt, Cersei would wonder how she managed to obtain it. „He said that after examining her, he is certain the wolf-bitch had given birth before. Do you know what this means?“

Did he? He had still been surprised by the news themselves. Rhaegar's heir? Could it be? What did Cersei intend to do with this information?

„I will be queen soon. All I must do is allow Pycelle to tell Robert.“

And just like that, all the puzzle pieces fall into place.

* * *

 

 

The next day, Jaime stands before the queen's chambers. By now, Cersei had most certainly had Pycelle tell Robert, and perhaps the information had already made its way to him as well. According to Cersei, this would mean death for the babe, wherever it was, as well as her taking one step closer to being queen. Of course, Cersei's own mind lingered on the latter, but Jaime could not help but be disturbed by the former, or by the fact she so easily glossed over it. A mere innocent babe, the last of Rhaegar's blood, as the Mountain made sure of it. In the minds of everyone, the babe would be nothing more than a loose end. Of course, not in the mind of Lyanna, who, if there truly was a babe, likely hid it and prayed every day no one would find out. If she hadn't killed herself yet, she surely would after that. Could Jaime live with it? Probably; he'd already surprised himself with how much a man could live with given a good enough excuse.  

It is only Robert's appearance at the end of the hallway that makes him doubt this; flanked by his own guards, his large steps and a menacing stare left no doubt that he was hellbent on destruction. _„You're hurting me.“_ in Jaime's ears, the Queen Rhaella's voice cried.

Without giving it a second thought, Jaime turned and entered the chambers he had so far been guarding from the outside. Reaching her bedside, he grabbed Lyanna's shoulders, and shook her with all of his might. Lyanna indeed awoke, eyes opening wide with fright evident in them.

„Listen to me. In about five seconds, Robert will burst through those doors, and ask you all about any children you might have had. You will tell him you had a stillborn, do you understand me?“

Jaime expected her to give him a nod, but a thunderous burst claimed both of their attentions instead.

„Get out of my way, Kingslayer!“ Robert roars, but Jaime stays with his heels dug at Lyanna's bedside.

„The queen needs her rest. Perhaps you could come back later.“

Robert simply ignores him; he circumvents him to reach Lyanna, and for an instant, Jaime thinks to stop him, but clenches his fist shut instead. He turns around to the sight of Robert shaking Lyanna's shoulders, much like Jaime had minutes prior. „You liar of a woman! Speak, where did you hide that dragonspawn; if you don't tell me, I swear it to the Gods Old and New I will kill you myself, Ned be damned!“

Lyanna only sobs, so genuinely a panic already began to flair up within Jaime, but then she tells Robert all about the sweet little stillborn girl she had, two moons before her brother Ned had found her in that tower. The Kingsguard had buried her somewhere beyond her knowledge, she says, and she never saw her again. She cried and cried, enough even for Robert's heart to soften, and for something resembling regret to pass over his features. „Those inbred dragonspawn,“ was all he muttered. „No wonder it had been born dead.“

„I am sorry I didn't tell you.“ Lyanna says. „I don't like to think about it, is all.“

Robert kissed the top of her head, professing his understanding, before he left. Jaime himself moved to take his leave, but her voice stops him with his hand on the doorknob.

„Why did you do it, Ser Jaime? Why did you help me?“

Why did he do it? Damn himself if he knew. He thinks for a moment simply to ignore her, but an explanation comes easier to his tongue than to his mind.

„Rhaegar loved you. And I respected Rhaegar.“

„Thank you, Ser Jaime.“ He heard her say before he closed the doors behind himself.

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, and enjoy this trip to Essos!

„Your Grace, we have received a letter from Varys.“

Jon Connington had been standing in the frame of the doors, bordering between the hallway and the chamber where Rhaegar took his lunch. He waved a hand, inviting the other man to join him.

„And what does it say?“ Rhaegar asked between bites.

„He claims the conditions for an attack are nearly perfect at the moment. Robert Baratheon had let his guard down. He had also been encouraged by his advisors, chiefly Jon Arryn, to be lenient when it came to dealing with those who supported the Targaryen dynasty. A lot of them remain at their original positions in the Red Keep, as well as throughout the kingdoms. A move that is seen as diplomatic, but will cost him greatly. Also, as you know, Tywin Lannister is currently his Hand of King, as his reward for sacking King's Landing. Varys suggests he may be even harder to deal with than Robert.“

„All things we already know.“ Rhaegar notices. „Did he mention any specifics?“ _Did he say anything about Lyanna?_ was what Rhaegar truly wished to ask. Yet, he didn't dare; as Jon had a habit of saying, he had greater concerns right now. Yet, he needed his bitter doubts washed away, he craved to know under which conditions exactly it came to it that she had become Robert's wife. Jon claimed it didn't matter in the grander scheme of things, but it mattered to Rhaegar. Motives always mattered to him.

He rubbed a hand against his forehead. „How are you so certain we can trust him, Jon? He'd advised my father into doom. He'd also advised him against me. He was the only reason the Mad King was there at Harrenhal. Varys told him I was intending to conspire against him.“ A younger, more naive, idealistic Rhaegar wouldn't have even considered doubting an extended hand. That Rhaegar saw good in everyone. But he had lost far too much, and it resulted in a feeling of wariness nearly toward everyone but Jon. He wondered if he was already descending into his father's madness. Regardless, Jon had always been a true, loyal friend, to the extent other people harshly speculated on his motivations. In truth, Rhaegar hadn't an opinion either way; he appreciated Jon's friendship and admired his lively spirit and prowess in battle. Perhaps drawn to that which he himself had never been, Rhaegar always held a special admiration for those who were exuberant.

„It was not Varys that advised your father to doom. It was Pycelle, who had most certainly been secretly working for the Lannisters from the start. From all that we know, Varys served the Mad King faithfully, which would hardly put him into Robert's good graces. If he was planning to betray you, he would have done so already. Besides, without him, we hardly have the means of penetrating the Red Keep unnoticed, and we do not have enough men for a direct attack. We cannot afford to doubt him.“

„I suppose you're right.“ Rhaegar sighs. In truth, it was the fact he was forced to hire sellswords that weighted even more on his mind, and so did his substantial debt to the Iron Bank. Men who did not fight for their own lands, wives or children could not be trusted to be fully devoted to any cause. The only possible victory had been an easy, elegant one. Which had resulted in their current plan.

„Your Grace.“ A newly arrived servant says. Rhaegar had only just noticed the lad. „Magister Illyrio had this specially ordered for you. This recipe is hardly come upon in Essos, but it is his understanding they are common where you come from.“

 _Lemoncakes._ A common enough Southron treat, though Lyanna had only ever tried them during their living in Dorne, much like many other Southron deserts uncommon in the North. Lyanna adored sweets; with utmost excitement she would pick at any cake presented to her, though lemoncakes remained her favorite. She would lie on her bed —  _their bed_ , legs up in the air, and she would pop small pieces in her mouth with her fingers, asking him always if he wanted any, but he never did, the truth was he simply enjoyed seeing her happy.

 As the war went on, for every three days of bliss they had, a day filled with melancholy and yearning would arise, and Lyanna would sit at the window for hours, asking him again and again if they could take a walk, please, just for a little while. He would always answer they couldn't, that it was too dangerous. Lyanna would then shrug her shoulders, and keep looking so longingly at the sand Rhaegar thought she pretended it were snow.

In truth, there had been a clear line in their relationship, a clear divide of before and after, and it had coincided with Lord Rickard's and Brandon's deaths; before it, the chief emotions passed between them were love and joy, while their latter days had been marked with a frantic sort of despair. Even their coupling had been different; what had started as mostly gentle love-making had later evolved into an animalistic, possessive sort of ritual, designed to prove to the both of them that, even with the ghosts between them, they still wanted each other.

Rhaegar still remembered so vividly their last night spent together in that tower, how savagely she'd scratched and bitten at him, trying to mark him as hers. _You have to come back,_ she had whispered in his ear between sighs. _I forbid you to die._ Rhaegar wondered how his appearance would make her feel now.

 


	16. Chapter 16

 

„Your Grace.“ The Spider pleasantly greets her.

„Lord Varys.“ Lyanna returns. She had come here on the man's summons, mostly out of curiosity to what it was that he wanted to speak to her about. Half the court thought her insane, and the other half useless. No one had any business exchanging words with her.

„I am sure you're wondering what subject this pertains to.“ Varys says with a soft smirk, folding his hands before himself. Lyanna had thought his general presence unsettling.

„The truth is, there is a very important topic we must discuss. As you know, I am the Master of Whispers. This makes it my occupation to know all the secrets well-kept and not so well kept throughout the realm. I achieve this by listening to little birds. Little birds in Dorne, and little birds in the North, they all sing to me.“

Lyanna kept looking at the man, apprehensive and wondering if she was paranoid all the same. _He doesn't know, he can't know._ No one knew besides herself, Ned and Benjen. Lyanna had given birth by herself, in a deserted tower, with the Kingsguard dying outside. Jon's wet nurse, Wylla was told he was Ned's babe. No one knew.

„Jon, what a pretty name. Almost perfect, for the son of the Northern Lord. Except he is anything but.“

„I do not know what you're speaking of.“ Even as she tried to be as convincing as possible, Lyanna gazed to her side, knowing herself to be a mostly bad liar.

„There is no use denying it, Your Grace. But fear not; your secret is safe with me.“

 „So, you will not tell Robert.“

Varys smiles softly. „If I truly meant to tell the king, I wouldn't be telling you this right now, Your Grace. However, I must admit my silence comes with a price.“ The man approaches her then, and presses a potion vial into her palm. Lyanna squeezes it instinctively, and Varys gently pats his hand over her own. „Perhaps if you could find a way for our king to ingest this, you could even find yourself with an opportunity to be reunited with your son.“

Lyanna looked up at him. „You want me to kill him. You want me to kill Robert.“

Varys smiled again. „Oh, nothing so drastic, Your Grace. This concoction will merely put him to sleep. Preferably tonight. After his dinner. I shall take care of the rest.“

Lyanna studied the man cautiously. „And if I do...this, then you won't tell anyone?“ _And I will be with Jon again somehow_ , she wants to add, her heart already fluttering, but she knows that claim is too good to be true. Jon being safe is enough.

„Consider it a promise, Your Grace.“ 

* * *

 

 

That evening, Lyanna invited Robert to her chambers. It went against her every instinct, to invite him and eagerly wait for him, for Robert typically invited himself. Still, this night Lyanna had a task to do. She squeezed the little bottle she bore in her hand. She'd been debating with herself whether to have a cup of wine with it waiting, or whether it was preferable she pour it while he was there. Finally, out of nervousness more than anything else, she decided to prepare the cup in advance. She threw the little vial out the window.

„My love.“ Robert eagerly greeted, not drunk, but on his way to being there. Drinking made him more pliable, but also more quick to anger. Unfortunately, it did not affect his appetite in bed.

He moved to embrace her, but Lyanna instead handed him the wine cup. „I've been expecting you, my lord.“ And just like that, her task was complete. For a minute or two, Lyanna merely observed him wide-eyed, expecting him to fall down momentarily, but this did not occur. Cursing her eagerness, she recalled that all these draughts needed some time to take effect, and even more the larger one was. For the time being, Robert would be his drunk, lecherous self.

„I missed you,“ he says, his big hands wrapping around her waist. Lyanna almost felt sick; there had been one blessing her miscarriage brought, and that had been an excuse to keep Robert away from her beds.

„I missed you too, my lord,“ she somehow choked out. Robert moved to kiss her; one of his hands came to grab at her breast and Lyanna sucked in a breath. He seemed to have understood it for pleasure, or he simply didn't care. But Lyanna did not have the stomach to bear him another night.

She separated them, except for leaning her forehead against his. „It is not true, you know. It is not true that he raped me.“

 Robert's face immediately reddened. „What did you say, woman? Repeat; what did you say?“ 

„It's not true.“ Lyanna repeated, now stronger. „I wanted him as much as he wanted me.“

Robert seemed to fume underneath; with the last bit of restraint he had, he spoke. „Oh you...you know not what you are saying, Lyanna. What he did was he took you in the middle of the night, he raped you-“

 „Raped me?“ Lyanna let out a chuckle. „No more than you did, dearest Robert. One cannot rape the willing.“

„Be careful now, woman!“ Robert boomed. „Be careful what you are saying, don't you dare compare me to that dragonspawn. You are my wife, and it is my right-“

„No more than it was his.“ Lyanna cuts him off. „He married me underneath a heart tree, you know. Made love to me there. I was his wife.“

 Robert grabbed her forearms and shook her. „It was a farce! He was already married, that dragonspawn had a wife, and yet she wasn't enough for him. Then he took you, kept you prisoner, and now you're all twisted up in your head.“ He let her go, and clenched his fists. „Seven hells!  Ned was right, he was right about you. You are nothing but a mad, ungrateful bitch. I fought a war for you, I killed for you, I killed _him_ for you, and this is how you pay me back?“

„Liar!“ Lyanna hisses. „You are lying. You did not kill him for me, you killed him for yourself. Because you wanted me, and I never wanted you. You bastard, I loved him and you killed him, and now you have the gall to tell me to be grateful-“

Robert backhanded her and Lyanna's face jerked down, fingers touching to the reddening pool on her cheek. She rose her head, proud. „He was twice the man you'll ever be.“

Another slap. This time Lyanna did not have it in herself to pretend it did not hurt.

„You disgust me,“ Robert grumbled tiredly. „Guards!“ then he roared, marching toward the door, but it appeared just in that instant the concoction decided to take effect. Robert stumbled back, seemingly disoriented, and then the full height and weight of him hit the ground. Lyanna's eyes widened; what was she going to do with him, like this? A woman of her size had no hope moving an unconscious man of his size even for an inch, let alone get him into a bed. His guards could enter at any second, and she would have exactly zero explanation for this.

Her frantic trail of thoughts was interrupted by steel clashing outside the doors. Then, before she knew it, the doors were broken in from the outside.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI we're nearing the end, two more chapters to go :)


	17. Chapter 17

 

The men pushed her through the doors, and then themselves left. Lyanna looked around the empty throne room, wondering why she was brought here, until movement atop the throne itself caught her eye. There he was, Rhaegar sitting atop the Iron Throne, his straight silver hair flowing down his shoulders, his dignified features caught in contemplation. Lyanna had thought the sight her own temporary madness, until the tall, lean figure she knew all too well stood from the chair, and elegantly began making its way down the stairs, toward her.

Lyanna could not stop staring at him. He wasn't dead. His body wasn't turned into ashes. He was as alive as he ever was, standing right there before her. For some reason, this incensed her beyond belief.

Then, his presence turns even more real, as his hand comes tilt her chin up. Those indigo eyes scrutinize her face, likely lingering on the red marks on it.  

 „Jon,“ he calls, still looking at her, his voice just how she remembered it. „Bring me the men in charge of escorting her.“

Jon, who until then had been a moveless figure in the shadows, bowed to the command and retreated. Though the red marks were chiefly Robert's fault, his men did rough her up enough that she wondered if they were charged to do so. Was he trying to hurt her? Lyanna wanted to tell him to cut his efforts, nothing new would compare with making her think he was dead.

Whoever Rhaegar was, he may not have been that man anymore. The Rhaegar she knew certainly did not allow his men to handle unarmed women the way his soldiers dealt with her. „You can and you will do with me what you will. But before you do, there is something you must know. You have a son.“

„I had a son.“ Rhaegar corrected. „Aegon is dead.“ He said it like he would declare what was for supper. Lyanna supposed she hadn't been the only one hardened by loss.

She braced herself before she spoke again. „I do not mean Aegon. I mean you have a living son, in Winterfell. His name is Jon. And if you kill me, then you will have killed his mother.“ Perhaps this was an unwise thing to confess to, yet something told her that, no matter the cruelty he was prepared to inflict on her, he would never hurt his kin and much less so his desired Promised Prince. Wishing for Jon to be born was the motivation behind all his prior actions, after all.

Indeed, Rhaegar's eyes grew wide in surprise at this; if there was one genuine thing Lyanna had learned about him during their time spent together in the Tower of Joy, it was that surprising him was a notable thing to accomplish.

„I do not believe this...“ His voice trailed off as his indigo gaze got lost in the distance, troubled and saddened. A Rhaegar she knew suddenly emerged to the surface. „How could you have hidden this from me?“ He demands then clenching his fists, indignation and outrage just beginning to bubble. „How could I have not known?“

Lyanna braced herself for the boldness of her reply. „I didn't know you were alive, so I suppose we're even.“

The gaze that held hers was suddenly so heavy, so unbearably sad that for an instant, Lyanna felt her something in her chest getting weighed down by it.

 „Gods, Lyanna. How...why?“ He licks his lips then, and straightening his shoulders,perhaps stupidly asks. „Why aren't you by his side, then? How could you have abandoned him?“

Lyanna drew in a breath, attempting to steel herself. „Need I remind you then what happened to your known children under Robert's commands? Need I remind you that my now husband swore to wipe every trace of you from this world?“ It made her fume with anger, that he had the gall to accuse her of being an uncaring mother when it was he who had abandoned them both, not even thinking to seek her out afterwards. „You think I would have married Robert out of anything other than necessity, if there was any other way for me to keep my son living? Yet you, it was you who let me believe that it was so.“ Thinking of this, the fire within Lyanna grew; furious, she pushed against his unscathed chest. „How could you? You bastard, how was it that you didn't even think to let me stop mourning you, not for a second, even if you did not wish for me by your side?“ Any boundaries Lyanna placed before herself had been breached now, from the inside rather than out.

Did he truly not think to get a message of it to her, even a single word with a proper seal would have sufficed. After Harrenhal, he used to write her poems, each one more beautiful than the last. She spent most of those moons in her bed in Winterfell, daydreaming of the life he promised her by day, and biting her lip at night. She wanted him so badly then, would conjure up and rearrange his features in her head every night before falling asleep, all the while desperately wishing to see him in flesh. But then she had been oblivious of his true intentions; it was only his third dragon head that he desired of her, a naive maiden swooned by sugary words and empty promises.

„You...mourned me?“ He stammered softly in his words, apparently surprised.

„I suppose it was wrong of me to, but I did.“ I mourned you terribly you bloody fool, she wanted to tell him. She wanted to go wherever it was that he went, even if it was death. Yet he abandoned her, without sparing her a second thought.

„Oh Lyanna,“ he says, his demeanor now softening as he came closer. „Oh Lyanna, my sweet.“ He cups her face with both of his hands, his touch still as gentle and loving as she remembered it. It had been when he touched her thus that she'd let herself imagine, believe he loved her, just a little. „My sweet, my love, you have no idea, you have no clue. I had been injured...unconscious during most of those moons, yet, from the instant I came to my senses, all I wanted to do was to reach you. But by then...“

„I had already married Robert.“ Lyanna finishes for him. She did not speak further, perhaps desiring his clear voice to put any remaining doubts at ease.

Rhaegar's forehead came to lean against her own. „I am so sorry, my sweet. I didn't know... I couldn't know. I assumed you hated me, left that part of your life behind yourself to resume your betrothal to Robert. If you...had still wanted me, I hadn't been aware of it, I couldn't have been.“

„You could have.“ She insists, now feeling herself beginning to pout. „You would have known it in your heart if you hadn't thought so lowly of me. How could you have ever thought I loved a man who I thought killed you? Do you think I would have been capable of something so callous, something so cruel as to...“

Rhaegar shakes his head no; he pulls her in, presses a kiss to the top of her head. Exhausted, Lyanna let herself lean against his chest, just for a minute. She could not help but notice they still fit perfectly like this, her head nestled under his chin, her ears listening for the thump of his heartbeat as his hands lightly rested against the small of her back.

His voice rasped into her hair. „I am so sorry, sweetling. Please forgive me. Please.“

Thinking words superfluous, Lyanna tilted her head up, twisted her hand in his hair, and kissed him.

 


	18. Chapter 18

 

„I would have. I would have given it to him anyway.“

For what felt like hours, Lyanna remained nestled in the crook of Rhaegar's arm and shoulder; her head was rested atop his chest, while her ear listened to the thump of his heart there.

Rhaegar pulled away slightly, and afforded her an inquisitive gaze.

„I would have,“ Lyanna repeats. „Even if I'd known it would have killed him, I'd have given it to him anyway. Even that first night, I'd sworn I would kill him. For what he did to you, and for what he did to me. Does that make me wicked?“

„No,“ Rhaegar assured, brushing her dark locks away from her forehead. „It makes you human.“ Varys had taken this decision out of both their hands, and Rhaegar couldn't say he minded. She deserved the pleasure of it as much as he did. There had been others who would be faced with Rhaegar's vengeful ire - those that did not hurt him, but rather his family. Plenty was lost, yet Rhaegar hadn't been hopeless. Because she was there. And their babe, that Rhaegar was yet to meet.

Lyanna's hand had joined his, and at her bidding, their fingers intertwined. „So, what happens now?“

Rhaegar sighs. „Now all who had betrayed me get their due, and those who supported me get their reward. I shall begin with the Lannisters; both the father and the son will be tried for treason.“

„ Even Ser Jaime? You don't mean Ser Jaime? What for?“ The rapid succession of her words gave him pause.

„He killed my father, Lyanna. He killed the king, likely to make his father's sack of the capital easier. He will await his punishment in the dungeons, much like his father will.“

„Your father was mad,“ Lyanna says with a sudden fire in her eyes. „He killed my brother and father, and countless other innocent men. If you wish to punish Ser Jaime for killing him, then you will have to punish me alongside him, for I would have done the exact same thing.“

„And yet, you are not a part of the Kingsguard,“ Rhaegar sighs. „It doesn't please me either, Lyanna, to punish the man for something I'd rather congratulate him for. But he'd sworn a sacred vow to protect his king, as mad as he was. There is hardly a greater crime than killing someone you're sworn to protect with your own life. I cannot very well leave it as if nothing had happened –“

„I am not asking for that. I'm just asking you to keep him alive. Send him into exile, or  to the Wall...just don't kill him. Because he is my friend, and he helped me immensely. You see...he shielded me from Robert, and he kept my secrets; he served me when no one else would. Surely protecting the queen stands for something as well.“

With this, a new emotion sparkled in Rhaegar's eye, one that Lyanna recognized as jealousy. Rhaegar was not an overly jealous man, he never once showed an ounce of emotion when it came to Robert's grand proclamations of love, before or during the war. But this had been different; he felt guilty for abandoning her.

„You once begged me this way for your brother,“ he remarks softly. Lyanna remembered, she was simply stunned that he did. „Do you truly love Ser Jaime that much?“

Lyanna took a deep breath.  „I assure you, I am not in love with him, nor is he with me. He simply did his duty. I once asked him why, he said for the memory of you. He admires you. And if he'd killed your father, then I am sure he had a good reason for it.“  

Rhaegar still did not seem persuaded.

„All I ask is that you talk to him,“ Lyanna pleaded. „Talk to him, ask him why he did it. But don't make a decision beforehand.“ Her brows furrowed as she directed those grey pup eyes to him. „Please, promise me, please, that you won't do anything before you speak with him.“Rhaegar had forgotten just what sort of an effect her pleading had on him.

He gave a sigh, then spoke with caution. „If this truly is so important to you, then, for you, I will privately hear what he has to say.“

„Thank you,“ Lyanna breathed, grateful. She then scooted back down, curling her body into his, and Rhaegar's fingers began lazily playing in her locks. If it were up to him, they could have stayed there forever.Even with her head nestled underneath his chin, he could feel her eyes looking up at him.

„You know, I still cannot fully believe it,“ she says, tracing a gentle hand across his lips. „I keep fearing that I will blink and you will disappear into air again.“

„I won't,“ Rhaegar assures, taking hold of her hand and kissing the tips of her fingers. „I promise, I shall never again leave you alone, my love.“

Lyanna leaned to kiss him, and seal his promise to his lips.

* * *

 

As he'd given his word he would do, Rhaegar made his way down into the dungeons; it had been dark enough that one needed a candlelight or a torch to navigate it. Passing a cell after a cell, he finally reached the one of the young lion. He motioned with his hand and the guard standing nearby began entertaining the lock.

Upon his entrance, the young Jaime Lannister, now out of his Kingsguard armor and in little more than rags, shot up to his feet.

„Your Grace.“

„Ser Jaime,“ Rhaegar greeted in return. „I suppose you are surprised to see me,“ he began, „ however, I am pretty certain you know what I wish to speak to you about.“

„I will spare you any efforts, Your Grace,“ Jaime says. „I am guilty. I confess to my crime.“

„So much is apparent,“ Rhaegar sighs. „There are too many witnesses for either of us to pretend it wasn't so.“

„With all respect, what is there to speak about then, Your Grace?“

„Your motives,“ Rhaegar says. „I wish to know why. Why did you kill my father?“

„I would think it appears obvious, Your Grace.“

„It does,“ Rhaegar admits. „However, I still wish to hear it from you. It was a command of your father's?“

It was a simple enough question, yet Jaime's mind seemed to linger unusually on it. His green eyes finally met Rhaegar's own. „Would you believe me if I say no, Your Grace?“

„It would depend. If you had a different explanation for all that had occurred.“

„Let us say, Your Grace, that you are a boy sworn to protect and serve the king. You guard your king, day in and day out. The king makes decisions, decisions that do not make much sense, but it is not yours to question. The king punishes people unjustly, but it is not yours to intervene. You have to see every minute of it still, inhale the scent of their burnt flesh. What would you do if the king had ordered an entire city to burn, but you had the power to stop him? It is not yours to stop him, it is not. But could you live with yourself if you didn't?“

„Are you claiming this was what had occurred?“

Jaime sighs. „Your father was a man obsessed with fire, Your Grace. I doubt I need to tell you this. And if you doubt my words, there is an easy enough way to confirm them. There are supposedly secret caches of wildfire all over King's Landing. At least Varys knows about it, but I only do for your father's last command was to use them to burn down the entire city.“  

Rhaegar took a minute or two to process the entire idea. „Even if what you're saying is true, Ser Jaime, he was still my father, and he was your king. Only I could have decided his death.“

 „I understand, Your Grace,“ Jaime says, swallowing. „I do not expect mercy. Do what you must do.“

Rhaegar sighed. „However, my wife is terribly fond of you. She begged me to spare your life. She says you served her in time of need, when no one else did.“

„The queen is terribly kind.“

„She is,“ Rhaegar agrees. „And I will try to be as well. There will be no trial, not for you anyway. I cannot say the same for your father. You will stay in the queen's service and you will protect her with your life. And remember that at the slightest mishap, I will have your head.“

Jaime kept looking at Rhaegar like he didn't understand a thing.

„You are free, Ser Jaime.“

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for dropping off the grid for a while (the update for STBS will also be soon hopefully ). As for this fic, one more chapter to go till the end :)


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna and Rhaegar reach the North.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so here's the final chapter! It took a little longer because I didn't really want to finish this fic, I loved writing it and it's possibly my favorite one I had ever done. Also thanks to everyone who has commented - opinions, suggestions and general feedback is something that always really helps :)

 

Their moon-long travel North was nearing its end, and no one was as anxious about it as Lyanna herself.

Rhaegar had forbidden her from riding thanks to the sickness their second babe was causing her, yet even more, he could see the excitement of seeing their first one brimming within her, hardly allowing her to stay still in one place. Still, Rhaegar had ordered her to stay in the wheelhouse until they'd reached Winterfell, something she resented him for, yet had too little energy to argue on it.

Now, Jaime Lannister had moved to give her a hand, and escort her out of it, yet Rhaegar stepped in, and helped his wife himself. Lyanna shot his offered hand a stern look that meant she did not wish to be treated like an invalid.

„Rise,“ Rhaegar had called with her by his side, and the Lord of Winterfell stood to his height, and following him, so did everyone else.

 „Your Grace,“ Ned Stark had solemnly offered, yet Rhaegar could detect the slight discomfort on his face. Ned Stark had of course been Robert Baratheon's closest friend and had fought by his side in the Rebellion, rebellion that Rhaegar had now belatedly crushed. The situation had been complicated to say the least.

„Good-brother,“ Rhaegar greeted the man, still reminding him he was wed to his sister, and for the sake of all was prepared to leave the past behind. „First of all, I must thank you for having kept my son safe. Your good deed will not be forgotten.“

„It was nothing but my duty, Your Grace,“ Ned Stark in turn responds.

The Lady Catelyn was slightly less discomforted, yet all the more shy as Rhaegar pressed a kiss to her knuckles, and the two of her young children who had been her likeness merely observed him in their childish innocence. Rhaegar had gently greeted the both of them, the older Robb and the younger Sansa, and made a mental note to not forget about the gifts he brought them.

It was the little boy beside that then caught his eye; gods be good, the curls dark as night, the grey eyes and the pouting lips, he had looked exactly like Lyanna. His age had been close to that of Robb's, and Rhaegar's absence made itself clear to him by this visual display.

Noting then that Lyanna had already made her way to his side, Rhaegar let her see her son; instead he shook the hand of the now very grown up Benjen Stark who had for this occasion descended from the Wall.

 Lyanna herself knelt before Jon, none too caring about her Southron silks.

„Do you remember me, pumpkin? You likely don't recall, but see, you knew me when you were very little-“ Jon, indeed, was not likely to recall, and Rhaegar had tried to warn Lyanna against expecting it. Still, he could sense her heart growing heavier in her chest as the child merely stared at her without recognition. 

„But look Jon, look,“ she says, showing him the pendant resting on her chest; the child's wide eyes followed intently. „You loved to play with this, do you recall? I would carry you and you would grasp for it and never want to let go.“

Seeing the child was not like to respond in a way as to please her, Rhaegar had just moved to console her, convince her the both of them still had plenty of time to get to know their son, when Jon came to grasp the pendant into his own little hands, as if something in it had indeed stirred his child memory. He then touched one of his hands to Lyanna's face, still intently staring at her.

„Come here, pup,“ Lyanna invited him in a tremulous voice, and Jon indeed came. He twined his little hands in her curls, and pulled down, then as if convinced, extended his little arms to hold around her neck. Whether Lyanna was laughing or crying had been unclear from that point on, she merely held him tight, and only let go before he would have a chance to suffocate.

„Jon,“ Ned Stark himself then came to address him. „You ought to meet your father now. Come.“

„Go on, Jon.“ Catelyn Stark had urged the child, touching his back, and Jon indeed came toward the kneeling Rhaegar. The child merely stared at him with wide, grey eyes; he had not appeared scared, perhaps only a tad puzzled. „Hello, Jon,“ Rhaegar had greeted him. „I am your papa.“ He wonders to which extent this will confuse the child, having his whole life known another man for his father.

„Papa!“ Jon cries immediately , and behind himself, Rhaegar hears Lyanna laugh out of all the depth of her being.

„Smart kid.“ Benjen Stark adds. When Rhaegar turns around, he sees Lyanna smiling, and there are tears brimming as well.

Still, Rhaegar hadn't been nearly as interesting to Jon as Lyanna, for the remainder of the day, he would constantly seek her out and hold to her skirts as if he were afraid to lose her. Not wasting any time, Lyanna took him to the stables and found the youngest foal there, immediately intent on teaching Jon how to ride. When Rhaegar had questioned why did a four-year-old need this skill, Lyanna merely brushed him off and informed him she knew how to ride before she knew how to walk properly. In her view, Jon was long overdue.

„Are you my mama?“ He finally asked her, sitting on her lap at dinner, as if his child mind had spent the entire day putting together all the facts. Lyanna was all too glad to inform him that yes, she was his mother.

„Will you stay here, then?“ the child pressed on, prompting Lyanna to explain that while they couldn't stay there forever, they would never be separated again. This did indeed make Jon happy, and his last request was for his filly to not be left behind either. He did seem a tad somber at the thought of leaving his cousin Robb behind, yet the promise of a new brother or sister lit his mood on this account too. „We will come and visit whenever we can, pup,“ Lyanna assured him. „But you will like it in the capital too.“

And time had indeed come, for them to leave. The realm, while reasonably stable with Kevan Lannister, Stannis Baratheon, and a newly agreeable Jon Arryn at the heads of their respective regions, demanded Rhaegar's return as well. An official wedding for all to witness and Lyanna's coronation was to come, both prospects which Lyanna had been mortified by. „You Southroners and your lavish traditions. I've wed you before the Old Gods and that's enough for me,“ she had huffed at him when he told her, and he suspected she would become none more pliable from that point either. Yet, he would gladly argue her for the rest of his life; merely looking at her reminded him that without her his life was bleak. Knowing her made Rhaegar morally corrupt, how else could he be described when a single loving gaze of hers made him feel all the war and bloodshed had been worth it.Thousands died so Rhaegar could have his lady love, and now that he had her, he would cherish her above all.

 

The horses had moved, the wheels had turned; somewhere South of the Wall, a she-wolf tended to her pup.

 


End file.
